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AMERICAN SCENERY, 



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T?^ADDISON KICHAEDS, N. A. 



WITE TSIRTY-TWO EFaEAVmOS ON STEEL 



feto llark: 

PUBLISHED BY LEAYITT AND ALLEN, 

379 BROAD Wi\Y. 



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Kntered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S54, 

By Leavitt and Allen, 

In the Clerk's Office of tlie District Court of the United States for the Southern District of 

New York. 



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BiLLi.N & Brothers, Printers and Stereotypera, *20 North WUIinm street, N". Y. 



ILLUSTEATIONS 



LAKE GEORGE, .... 

MOUNT VERNON, . . . . 

FALLS OF TALLULAH, GA., No. 1. 

ELKHORN PYRAMID, UPPER MISSOURI, 

THE PARK FOUNTAIN, N. T., 

THE NARROWS, FROM STATEN ISLAND, . 

BIRTH PLACE OF WASHINGTON, 

NEW YORK, FROM WEEHAWKEN, 

WASHINGTON CROSSING THE ALLEGHANY, 

MEDICAL COLLEGE, GA., . 

FALLS OF TOWALAGA, GA., . 

CASCADE OP TUCCOA, 

LOVER'S LEAP, CHATTAHOOCHEE RIVER, 

CATARACT OP TALLULAH. No. 2, 

SCENE IN THE BACKWOODS . 

COLUiMBIA BRIDGE, ON THE SUSQUEHANNA, 

RIVER SCENE IN THE SOUTH-WEST, 

LOG HUT ON LAKE CHAUDIERE . 

TOWER ROCK, ON THE MISSISSIPPI, . 

ST. REGIS, INDIAN VILLAGE, ST. LAWRENCE, 

MONTREAL IN THE DISTANCE, ST. LAWRENCE, 

BISON AND ELK, UPPER MISSOURI, 

CINCINNATI, OHIO, 

THE OHIO CAVE-IN ROCK, 

NAVY ISLAND, 

NIAGARA FALLS . 

BURLINGTON, VERMONT, 

LAKE IN THE ADIEONDAOKS, N. Y., 

ROCK MOUNTAIN, 

THE SUSQUEHANNA, 

RESIDENCE OF JUDGE HALIBURTON, 

THE CONNECTICUT RIVER, 



Frontispiece. 
Before Title. 
9 

13 

21 

81 

41 

53 

65 

Tl 

81 

91 

99 

109 

119 

127 

137 

147 

157 

165 

173 

181 

187 

195 

203 

211 

223 

235 

245 

257 

271 

295 



In tlie following discursive pages the author lias 
taken a brief, but lie hopes an intelligent, glimpse at 
the varying characteristics of the beautiful natural 
scenery of our country. It has been his endeavour, 
throughout, so to relieve the gravity of fact with the 
grace of fiction, as to present at the same time an in- 
structive topography and an entertaining romance. The 
better to accomplish this difficult end, he has assem- 
bled around him a company of accomplished and genial 
travellers, who discuss the subject familiarly in all its 
phases, each from his own peculiar stand-point and aftei- 
his own individuality. It is not necessary that the 
reader be here presented to these gentlemen, since 
they will shake him by the hand, and tell him what 
manner of men they are, in the first chapter, — ^wliich 
subserves the usual role of a j^reface, but is too much 
an integral and important part of the narrative to be 
so called. 



( 8 ) 

It is not tlie least of tlie author's hopes, that his 
labour may serve, in a humble measure, in the further 
development of the already very high appreciation of 
our wonderful scenery, and in the culture of the pop- 
ular love of that charming Art — which is, at the same 
time, its interpreter and its chronicler — the Art of the 
Landscape Painter, from the more legitimate study of 
which he has turned aside, in leisure hours, to this ac- 
cessory toil. And it is as such an accessory to the 
province of his own profession, rather than as a trespass 
upon the fields of the sister art of letters, that he thus 
ventures to exhibit his work. 



Univeesity, New York, 

July Ut, 1854. 



M 




COITENTS. 



CHAPTER I. 

PAGB 

Re-union in the Author's sanctum — His despondency, in view of the task before 
him — Sympathy of his friends, and cheering promises of assistance — The 
tlieme of his proposed book announced — The romance and the reality of 
American landscape : its pihj-siqxie and morale, its historic tradition, its 
poetic legend, its incident, adventure, and suggestion— General and hearty 
approbation in the assembly of the subject, and varied expression of 
opinion upon its importance, availability, and interest — Departure of the 
guests, with a pledge to reassemble at intervals, and aid the author with 
their respective knowledge and experience 13 

CHAPTER II. 

Second convocation of the Club — Selection, as the text of the evening, of the 
picture of the Park Fountain — The Chairman's historic memories of foun- 
tains and aqueducts — Mr. Vermeille's poetic view of the matter — History of 
the Ci'oton Aqueduct — The pleasing and graphic material it offers for an 
autobiography — Mr. Flakewhite's romance of "The Smile of the Fountain" — 
Mr. Brownoker's droll anecdote of the " Man in the Fountain" 21 ' 

CHAPTER III. 

The party starts southward— Visit to Virginia — Extraordinary attractions of 
the historical associations of the country— The great men of Virginia— The 
birth-place of Washington ; Mr. Blueblack's visit to the spot — General 
absence of commemorative monuments in America; reflections upon the 



10 CONTENTS. 



PAGE 



cause aud consequence, importance and interest of such memorials, and 
illustrative anecdote by the Chairman — The extent, variety, and beauty of 
the scenery of Virginia; the springs, and western hills, aud rivers — Megilp's 
disastrous adventures in Weir's Cave, and at the Natural Bridge — Blue- 
black's tale of " LriTLE Emma Munnerlin" — Browuoker's brief story of 
" Tom, Dick, aud Harry, or "Woman's Constancy" 41 

CHAPTER IV. 

Still in Virginia — Gossip about the uses and pleasures of social re-unions — 
Mr. Deepredde's reflections upon the historical incident of the " Crossing 
of tlie Alleghany in the expedition of 1*753 ;" his account of the adventure 
in the story of "The Man of Duty" — Flakewhite's dramatic historiette of 
" Gabriblle de St. Pierre" 65 



CHAPTER Y. 

The travellers proceed to the Caroliuas and Georgia — Conversation upon the 
prospects of art in America, and the influences at work for its development 
and advancement — Mr. Vermeille's tale of "The Mothers of the Revolution," 
and Mr. Deepredde's Mesmeric Visit to "Margaret House;" sequels to the 
stories of "The Man of Duty" and " Gabrielle de St. Pierre" — Glimpses of 
the scenery of the South-eastern States, from the lowlands to the moun- 
tains — Halt at the Falls of Toccoa — "The Old Legend of Toccoa" 01 



CHAPTER VI. 

The Falls of the Tallulah, in Georgia ; offerings of the poets — Nacooehee, and 
other neighbouring beauties — Ignorance of the mountaineers in the South- 
east, and difficulties of travel — Megilp's wicked tricks upon the natives — Mr. 
Brownoker's exploits as a Frenchman — Flakewhite's story of " Kitty, the 
Woodman's Daughter" 109 

CHAPTER VII. 

Tlie South-west — Romantic adventures and suff"erings of the early explorei's — 
De Soto, and his companions — Mr. Asphaltum's account of his visit to 
the Mississippi — Local oddities of Western character — Tale of " Mistletoe 
Hall" 137 



CONTENTS. 11 



CHAPTER VIII 

PAGE 

Tower Rock, on the Mississippi — Coijtiimation and conclusion of the romance 
of " Mlstletoe Hall" 157 



CHAPTER IX. 

Progress of the Club to the Great "West — ^Slegilp's recollections of the Missouri 
River ; his adventures at the " Gates of the Rocky Mountains" — The great 
Prairies — California and Oregon — Modes of hunting the bison — Megilp's 
"First and Last Buffalo Hunt" 181 

CHAPTER X. 

The West — The Ohio River and Diamond Island — Cave in the rock — Mammoth 
Cave — The rivers of Kentucky — Scenery of the States touching the north 
bank of the Ohio — Peep at Minnesota, Iowa, Michigan, Wisconsin, and the 
Great Lakes — Megilp's adventure, which proves to be "K'othing after all!" 195 

CHAPTER XI. 

Return of the travellers to the North, and visit to Lake George — Extent and 
beauty of the lake — Scenery of New York and New England — Pre-eminence 
of Horicon — Its characteristics in relation to foreign lake-views — The moun- 
tain shores and islands of Horicon — Social pleasures of the region — Historic 
memories — Mr. Asphaltum's story of "The Scout of Horicon, or Rogers's 
Slide" — Mr. Brownoker's tale of " Diamond Isle, or The Stray Glove" 211 

CHAPTER XII. 

Visit to the Adirondacks and the famous Sardnac Lake region — Its celebrity 
for picturesque beauty, and for its capacity as a hunting and fishing ground 
— ^Boating on the mountain-lakes— A bear-adventure — Blueblack's dolefid 
encounter with a wild-cat, in the great Indian Pass — The huntei-s, and 
their manner of life — Anecdotes of a sporting parson — Adventurous passage 
through the woods, from the Saranacs to the Adirondacks — Mr. Asphal- 
tum's recollections of "The Hermit of the Adirondacks" 235 



12 CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

PAGK 

The Middle States — The Hudson — The Catskills ; favourite summer studio of 
the artists : landscape-painters Cole, Durand, and others — The Erie Railway 
and the Delaware River — Valley of "Wyoming and scenery of the Susque- 
hanna — The Juniata, the Scluiylkill, and the Lehigh — Scenery of Delaware, 
New Jersey, and Maryland — Coal-beds and Canals of Pennsylvania — Tale of 
"Love's Labour "Won" — The Chairman's narrative of "Mr„ Brown's Strategy" 257 



CHAPTER XIV. 

Our travellers and their wanderings, with a brief excursion into New England — 
Ease and pi'ofit of travel there— Pai'tition of the route ; Mr. Megilp retracing 
his rambles in Maine ; Mr. Vermeille exploring the white hills and lakes of 
New Hampshire ; and Mr. Flakewhite strolling lovingly amidst the rich 
valley-lands of the Housatonic and the Connecticut — Antiquity of New 
England ; its stores of Indian and revolutionary reminiscence — Blueblack 
on the peaks of Mansfield and the Camel's Hump, and in the valleys of 
Vermont — Brownoker's merry experience of the social characters and habits 
of New England — His graphic report of the anniversary festival of the 
society of " Woman's Rights" — Mr. Megilp's " Slight Mistake" — Farewell 
salutations of the guests, and the author's valediction 205 



CHAPTER I. 

The wit and wisdom of a pleasant circle of gay friends wbo, 
while thej never exceed, yet always quite fill np, tlie limits of 
becoming mirth, had, through a long evening, dashed a flood 
of laughing sunshine upon the sombre-hued walls of our antique 
studio. The sparkling coruscations of their mad humour availed, 
however, but partially to exorcise the heavy shadows which hung 
like a pall over our usually buoyant spirits. One disquieting 
thought oppressed us, and, as usual, awakened our entire schedule 
of ugly remembrances, which to be sure had no earthly relation- 
ship to the first intrusive visitor, yet came in that hateful gre- 
garious spirit to which misery is proverbially given. While the 
hours were flying in the brilliant, yet, as it then seemed to us, 
bootless pleasure of social gossip, we were thinking of duties 
deferred, of " time misspent, and fair occasions gone forever by ;" 
and in that wretched state of mental languor, which though it 
sees, yet is too feeble to confront and conquer difiiculty, we were 
dreaming of our neglected duties — to you, reader; of the ways 
and means of fittingly acquitting ourself of the task of preparing 
these pages; wondering how on earth we could possibly do the 
deed, and that, too, within the brief time which our publishers 



14 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

allowed us. We lialf regretted that we had so rashly assumed 
the labour. We obeyed the behest of Sir Philip Sydney, to look 
within our own heart and write, but we found, like Sir Charles 
Coldstream when he gazed disgusted into the crater of Vesuvius, 
that there " was nothing in it !" We had recently laid aside 
that charming bouquet of " Passion Flowers" which had just 
blossomed so sweetly in the literary parterre, and a lingering 
fragrance came to us, in the remembrance of the lines — 

"I nevei" jnade a poem, dear friend, 
I never sat me down and said. 
This cunning brain and patient hand 
Shall fashion something to be read. 

"Men often came to me and prayed 
I should indite a fitting verse 
For fast or festival, or in 
Some stately pageant to rehearse, 
(As if, than Balaam more endowed, 
I, of myself, could bless or curse.)" 

The bricks, we felt, should be made, but, alas ! where was tho 
straw? In brief, we suspected ourself of decided stupidity, and 
could, in no way, reasoii us out of the grateful conviction. Our 
evil mood, though not virulent enough to check the humour of 
our guests, was yet sufiiciently evident to attract notice and to 
elicit sympathy. A dozen clever and kind doctors were anxiously 
occupied with our moral pulse. We explained our symj^toms, 
and were soon cheered and flattered into a more quiet and. 
hopeful state. 

"The waters of your fancy," said Mr. Brownoker, "will, 
by all hydraulic law, soon remount to the desired height; for, 
pardon the compliment, is not the reservoir lofty enough for all 
your needs? Some vulgar trash temporarily obstructs the 
conduit — a buckwheat cake too much at breakfast, perhaps, or 



THE MEETING OF THE TRAVELLERS. 15 

wine and walnuts too abundant at dinner. Eest assured, my 
dear boy, that what is poetically called "a mind diseased," is, 
in the vulgate, often nothing more than pork and beans ad 
nauseam. We'll soon blow away the blues, and bring you back 
to concert pitch !" 

" Eemember Mrs. Chick, and ' make an effort,' " said Mr. 
Brownoker. 

" You have but to meet the enemy and he is yours," added 
Mr. Megilp.. 

" Forget not Sir Joshua, ' Nothing is denied to well-directed 
laboui',' " said Deepredde. 

" Or Eichelieu calling back the spent fire and energy of his 
early years, 'In the bright lexicon of youth there's no such 
word as fail.' " 

" The sacred text, ' As thy day so shall thy strength be.' " 
" Cassar, ' Veni, vidi, vici !' " 

Eefreshed with this torrent of cheering words, our courage 
and hope were rapidly springing into life again, and when the 
last scrap of conclusive and flattering i^aillery, "Eemember your- 
self, and 'the country is safe!'" came to our ears, the stainless 
pages before us seemed rapidly to pass from fair manuscript to 
corrected proof, and from proof to peerless volume. Countless 
editions followed each other through our brightening view, and 
for very modesty we closed our eyes upon "the opinions of the 
press." 

" Your book shall be finished as speedily as Aladdin's castle ! 
We will all lend you a hand," cried our guests. " We will 
have a literary ' bee.' " 

" You shall cut out the work and we will ' play tailor to 
the Muses!'" 

" What is your theme ? Not metaphysics — aye ?" 
"Not sermons?" 
"Not politics?" 



16 THE KOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

" Not temperance?" chimed in one upon anotlier, the associated 
face sensibly lengthening the while. 

"By no means!" we hastened to explain. "Neither phi- 
losophy, religion, nor morals. Heaven forbid ! We have a more 
genial topic — the Eomance and Eeality of American Land- 
scape — its physique and morale, its historic tradition, its poetic 
legend, its incident, adventure, and suggestion. What say you 
to the text?" 

" You could not have a happier one, and we, learned in the 
book of Nature, are the very preachers to discourse thereon. 
Are not you, yourself, are we not all, painters and poets — 
life-long worshippers of Nature? Have we not laid our souls 
upon her sacred altar ? Do wo not ken her in all her thousand 
mystic utterances, and will she not lend us the living inspiration 
of her smile as we seek to chant her praise? Yerily a noble 
test, and now for the heads of the sermon!" 

"Our pubhshers," we explained, "are happily possessed of a 
portfolio of pictures of many of the most charming and famous 
bits of American scenery — a portfolio which they laudably desire 
to give to the world — and we are pledged to play master of 
ceremonies on the occasion, to expatiate upon the panorama as 
it passes." 

" A pleasant task enough, in which, as we have said, we will 
ail assist you. In our periodical conclaves here we will take 
subject after subject, and each one shall give up that which is 
most within him of his experience, adventure and imaginings 
of the several scenes. We could not have more delightful 
occupation as we sip our sherry and puff our havanas. As old 
Phocylides says — 

"'Tis right for good wine-bibbiog people 
Not to let the jug pace round the board like a cripple, 
But gaily to chat while discussing their tipple." 



'^ 



THE ROUTE AND ITS PLEASURES. 17 

"Notliing could be more agreeable," said Mr. Yermeille, 
" than, while sitting arouud our winter fire, to live our joyous 
summer rambles over again, to retrace our merry courses from 
Maine to Texas, from the Atlantic to the Pacific. We will 
emerge from the rank everglades of Florida and watch the 
buffalo as they scour the boundless prairie. Look from the 
proud summit of Mount Washington over the waters of Winni- 
piseogee and Squam, across valley and hill, village and city, to 
the ocean-bounded horizon. From the lyric peaks of the 
Catskills we will scan the windings of the peerless Hudson. 
On the Adirondacks we will drink in the beauties of Horicon 
and Champlain, and the verdant sweeps of the green hills. Our 
barque shall thread the tortuous path of the Mississippi and the 
Missouri. We will repose ourselves by prattling cascade, or listen 
to the sterner voice of Niagara ' pouring its deep eternal bass 
in Nature's anthem.' ' Lord ! what a tramp we'll have !' " 

"We will rekindle our fancies," added Mr. Flakewhite, 
" with the wild legends which the red man has bequeathed to 
the scenes of his lost home, and strengthen our patriotism and 
virtue with remembrances of the gallant deeds of Trenton, 
Saratoga, Yorktown, Champlain, Bennington, and many other 
consecrated fields." 

" If our scene," said a sculpturing friend, who had just 
returned to us after a long sojourn in Europe, " were but 
laid amidst the storied haunts of the Old World, and our 
characters culled from its peculiar and picturesque populations, 
we should have more plastic material to work with than we 
shall find in the rugged quarries of this new land, untutored 
by the touch of Art, unsoftened by the breath of Time ; and 
a people too active and practical for poet's uses." 

" A mistaken notion of yours, my dear friend," rejoined Mr. 
Flakewhite. " I grant you that, to the common eye and feel- 
ing, the story of our battle-fields, the freshness and newness of 
2 



18 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICA17 LANDSCAPE. 

our natural scenery, may seem tame, wanting tlie poetic veil 
of distance ; may be belittled by its contemporary cbaracter ; but 
we, I liope, are men of larger vision, possessed of tliat unpre- 
judiced and prophetic spirit whicli, like the catholic power of 
love, ' lends a precious seeing to the eye ;' revealing to us the 
immortal essence of actions and things, stripped of all passing, 
degrading accessories. It is only your shallow-pated fellow for 
whom ' too much freedery breeds despise.' 

" It is in the very freshness you condemn, added to the 
grandeur, scope, and vigour of our landscape, and to the same 
qualities in the morale of our people, that our strength lies : 
qualities pointing to a larger humanity, and to a higher and 
nobler civilization, than the world has yet been blessed with. 
"We, as poets and artists, are favoured in being called upon to 
water this grander spirit rather than to expound the meaner 
though more dainty aims of the old art and thought. 

" Now, last, though not least, were our land, in poetic and 
philosophic inspiration, a thousand times behind all other climes, 
rather than so gloriously before them, is it not our own land, 
and is not the offering of our love and service a duty, no 
less than a delight? 

'" O, my native land! 



How sliouldst thou prove aught else but dear and holy 

To me, who from thy lakes and mountain hills, 

Thy clouds, thy quiet dales, thy rocks and seas, 

Have drunk in all my intellectual life. 

All sweet sensations, all ennobling thoughts, 

All adoration of the God in Nature; 

All lovely and all honourable things — 

Whatever makes this mortal spirit feel 

The joy and greatness of its future being. 

There lives not form, nor feeling in my soul. 

Unborrowed from my country I' " 



THE ROUTE AND ITS PLEASURES. 19 

"But, will our subject, think you, interest tlie popular 
heart?" asked Mr. Brownoker. 

" Nothing more so," responded Mr. Deepredde, " for it 
touches a gentle and universal chord in the human soul. Since 
the halcyon days when Adam and Eve rejoiced with exceeding 
joy beneath the glorious skies of Paradise, Nature has ever 
shared bountifully in the love and adoration of man. This 
feeling is an instinct, no less than a refinement, in our souls. 
The degraded Guebre, and the poor Indian, with untutored mind, 
worship the elemental principles of Nature, bowing down in 
mystic rite to the sacred fire, or gazing up, with rapt vision, to 
the throne of the Great Spirit, the blazing sun; the wretched 
negro no less, as he bows to the god of poisons, enshrined in 
the foliage of the poison tree, or prostrates himself before the 
omnipotence of the waters, in his prayers to the crocodile ; so, 
too, the followers of Zoroaster, kneeling in the free and unpol- 
luted air of the grand mountain tops. 

"From the lowliest to the loftiest spreads this all-pervading 
love. 'He,' says Pindar, 'deserves to be called the most excel- 
lent, who knows most of Nature.' 'Nothing,' Cicero tells us, 
'is so delightful in literature, as that branch which enables us 
to discern the immensity of Nature, and which, teaching us 
magnanimity, rescues the soul from obscurity.' Horace dis- 
dained the glitter of Augustus's court, in the quiet of his Sabine 
home. Then we hear of the 

'Olive-grove of Academe, 
Plato's retirement, where the attic bird 
Trills her thick warbled notes the summer long.' 

Where and when, indeed, have greatness or goodness astonished 
and blessed the world, unnurtured by the sacred manna which 
Nature, in her varied forms, provides?" 

At this point of his discourse, Mr. Deepredde was suddenly 



20 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

brought np by a sacrilegious bint tbat the small hours were 
coming; and a general movement among our guests ensued. 

"J. Mercredi P'' said one of us. 

" "We will not fail you !" cried another. 

" Have your portfolio ready," advised a third. 

" With the especial subject of the evening," said a fourth. 

" And we will each weave around it our garland of fact 
and fiction," promised a fifth. 

" And our word for it !" sang out the last, as his form 
vanished in the outer darkness, "enough copy shall be elicited 
to satisfy the cravings of the most carnivorous 'devil' that ever 
worried the soul of poor author : and of a quality, too, let 
us flatter ourselves, to win the patient ear of many a pleased 
reader." 



CHAPTER II. 

On the appointed evening, our impromptu committee re-as- 
sembled. Mr. Deepredde was called to the chair, and the 
.minutes of the previous meeting — that is, dear reader, the fore- 
going chapter — were read and " ordered to be printed." The 
portfolio was opened, and we selected from its stores the 
accompanying charming picture of the famous Park fountain : 

"We cannot do better than thus begin at home," observed 
an original and profound thinker. "Let us avoid the vulgar 
error of undervaluing those beauties and delights which lie 
within our daily reach." 

" Fountains," solemnly observed the respected chairman, by 
way of initiating the subject'of the night, "have from the remotest 
periods, and among all people, been objects of especial interest. 
In varied shape and costliness, they embellished all the chief 
towns of ancient Greece. Old Pausanius has left us accounts 
of many of these favourite structures. Among others, he men- 
tions a most remarkable one at Epidemus, in the sacred grove 
of Esculapius ; and two yet more interesting at Messena, loved 
by the populace under the names of Arsinoe and Clepsydra. 
We read also of beautiful fountains in the city of Megara, in 



22 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

Acliaiai ; of the famous Pirene at Corintli, encircled by a marble 
wall sculptured with various grottoes, from which the waters 
flowed; and of the Leina, also at Corinth, surrounded by a 
grand portico, u.nder which were seats for the public ease and 
comfort in the svdtry summer evenings. 

" All of us have delighted our fancies, and many of us have 
blessed our vision, with these rich and classic altars of the water 
sprite in the art and nature-loving land of Italy. For my own 
part, though Pope seems to think it but a shabby sort of 
warming ' to think on the frightful Caucasus,' yet on many a 
scorching August night, in this salamander town of ours, I 
have cooled my brow and brain with the remembered sparkles 
and breezy drippings of the merry waters by St. Peter's, at 
Frescati, and Termini, and Mount Janiculum ; in the dreamy 
gardens of the Belvidere, and at the lovely villas of Aldobran- 
dini and the Borghese, 

" I doubt not that we all cherish equally grateful recollec- 
tions of the fountained beauties of Paris — that city of fountains 
— a title, let me observe, en ]^ccssant, which I trust our own 
goodly city of Gotham will one day successfully dispute ; for 
surely, to speak after the manner of rude men, * she has got 
it in her.' As I was saying, though, we have lingered many 
a bappy hour in the sweet watered groves and wilds of Yer- 
sailles, lounged delighted at St. Cloud, or strolled with outward 
and inward satisfaction through the passages of the Tuileries." 

" Our respected chairman, in his learned remarks," observed 
Mr. Yermeille, " has touched upon the jDoetry and sentiment of 
our theme, though very much more might be said on this head : 
much more (as frightened eyes glanced from all sides of the 
table) than I have any thought of now saying. That first 
and most perfect of women, our great mother. Eve, made her 
sinless toilet in the mirroring waters. The whispers of the 
fountain fell in cadence with the love-songs of Jacob and 



FOUNTAIN'S. — THE CROTON". 23 

Eebecca. It was bj tlie fountain side that our Saviour dis- 
coursed to the Samaritan woman. Fountains are associated with 
countless beautiful incidents and histories in the life of mankind, 
Thej have ever been a treasured theme and simile of the poets. 
The sacred writers forever sing of the fountains. Shakspeare 
alludes to them continually ; so Milton, Sidney, Shelley, and 
indeed all who have ever uttered the breathings of truth and 
beauty." 

" Before we fall into too discursive a gossip," said a brother 
of an inquiring turn of mind, " would it not be well to glance 
at the genealogy of our theme, by a brief review of the history 
of its great source, the immortal Croton ?" 

A general nod of approbation followed this suggestion, and 
all eyes turned intuitively to the chair. 

" Not to trespass upon your time, gentlemen," commenced 
Mr. Deepredde, " I will say nothing of the achievements of the 
Egyptians under Sesostris ; of Semiramis, in Babylonia ; of the 
Israelites in the days of Solomon and Ilezekiah ; or of other 
stupendous aqueducts of ancient art and enterprise ; but come 
at once to our own — a work which, in magnitude and value, 
may rank with the tro^^hies of any period. As long ago as 
1793, Dr. Joseph Brown proposed to supply our city with water 
by bringing the river Bronx to Harlem in an open canal, 
raising it to the required height by steam, and conducting it 
to the town in a six-inch pipe." 

" The doctor was an old fogy !" interrupted a progressive 
gentleman. " The Bronx and a six-inch pipe ! pooh !" 

" True," resumed the chairman, " that was the day of small 
things ; but still we must not be unmindful of the Doctor : he 
planted the humble seed from which has grown the sturdy 
Croton. This seed first shot up under the culturing hand of 
our honoured fellow-citizen. Colonel De Witt Clinton, in the year 
1832. In 1835 the bud was fully formed, and on the Fourth 






24 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

of July, 1842 — many of you remember tlie merry day and its 
rejoicings, gentlemen — the great work was completed ; and, with, 
music and merriment, the Croton Lake, forty long miles away, 
was escorted over hill and valley to the firesides of our people, 
and endowed forever with the freedom of the city. This intro- 
duction, gentlemen, cost us some twelve millions of dollars." 

" It has just occurred to me, Mr. Chairman," said Mr. Ver- 
meille, " that should either of us be in want of a theme for 
our muse, we might happily find it in an autobiography of the 
Croton. What an epitome of human happiness and misery its 
varied story would present ! What changeful experiences it 
must gather in its passage from the peaceful seclusion of its 
native hills through the thousand scenes of joy and sorrow, 
of virtue and vice, which it sees within the voiceless walls 
of this mad capital, to its final home in the great ocean of 
waters. Here, with gentle sympathy and sweet hope, it kisses 
the sinless brow of the babe at the holy font, and there sighingly 
seeks to cool the fevered tongue of the dying sinner. Now it 
gives hearty greeting to the thirsty labourer, sings gaily in his 
humble kettle, boils his frugal dinner with a will, and anon, it 
shrinks from the hated association with the poisoned cup of the 
drunkard ! Oh ! a merry elf — a sorrowing slave — is the Croton !" 

" You remember, gentlemen, no doubt," said Mr. Flakewhite, 
" that graphic Croton story of Hoffman's, called the ' Man in 
the Eeservoir,' in which he so thrillingly and philosophically 
analyzes the varying emotions of his hero, plunged beyond help 
in the deep waters, and hour after hour, in the silent night, 
vainly seeking a means of ascent in the steep mural banks !" 

" A capital and most effective picture ! Apropos, are there 
no legends or tales associated with the history of our fountain, 
or has its life been too brief to gather them ?" 

" Enough, and winsome ones too, without doubt, if it could 
but speak for itself." 



THE SMILE OF THE FOUNTAIN. 25 

" Poor tliino- 1 Will not some imaginative brother speak for 
it? Brownoker, suppose you concoct us a " 

" Punch ?" 

" No, a romance. It is quite in your line." 

"Not for the present occasion. The story of our fountain 
should be one of dainty sentiment. Flakewhite is your man." 

" Well, gentlemen," said Mr. Flakewhite at length, and after 
much persistence on the part of his friends, "as my turn must 
come at some time, I submit. I do not vouch for the literal 
truth of what I am about to say to you. I tell the tale simply 
as it — comes to my fancy. Listen then to the romance of 



C^e ^mile of tlje I'auittiuit. 

" Not many years ago, a young lad came from the seclusion 
of the country to this bustling city, in confident quest of fame 
and fortune. This was no strange occurrence. Hundreds are 
thus daily coming, and disappointment, only, is but too often the 
sad reward of their bright and credulous hopes. Our hero was 
not of these unfortunates. He Avas doomed to struggle no less 
than they; but not, like them, to sink in the trial. He came 
unknown, unfriended, and with empty purse. He felt the cold 
charities of the rude world, and ate the bread of bitterness. 
He swallowed to the dregs the cup of hope deferred and toil 
too long unrewarded. His ambition was to be a painter ; and 
though his sensitive and haughty spirit illy brooked the slavish 
labour, yet want and necessity compelled him to perform the 
humblest services — the lowest drudgery — of his art. 

" He was a youth of strong heart and brave will. He was 
possessed of all that subtile delicacy and spirituality of feeling, 
that romance and beauty of soul, which instinctively seeks com- 



26 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

munion with all that is most gentle and exalted in our nature, 
and which finds its development in thought and action far 
above the common interests and pursuits of men ; yet no less 
was he imbued with that practical and philosophic spirit which, 
though it be but for the end's sake, rightly estimates the value 
of the humble means by which the loftiest, no less than the 
lowliest, success must be won. He was eager to reach the goal, 
yet patient in the race. His gaze soared to heaven, but he 
forgot not the earth which sustained his feet. 

" Day after day, and, indeed, year upon year, he pursued 
his silent toil, renewing his hope and strength in communion 
with the pure and beautiful spirit of Nature as often as his 
wearying labours permitted him to seek the home of his heart 
in the sunlight and shade of the country. When, in process 
of time, the gay prattle of the new Park Fountain one bright 
sunny morning startled his wondering ears, in the very midst 
of the dull scenes of his daily life, his heart leaped up with 
the dancing waters, and their joyous voice spoke to his soul 
then, as ever after, in glad whispers of sympathy and hope 
It brought back to his remembrance the smiling eyes of the 
mother he would never see again ; of the home from which he 
was an exile. It filled his spirit with indescribable emotions 
of pleasure, and, from that hour forth, exercised over him a 
strange and irresistible fascination. It was the bright far-off 
star of his wonder and love, bending down to his ear in 
familiar converse. JSTo matter for cold or hunger, for exhaus- 
tion or despondency, he was ever, in his leisure hours, at early 
morn, and in the waning night, invincibly drawn by the magic 
spell of the fountain. The edge of the murmuring basin grew 
to be his home. Here he would sit through unobserved hours, 
gazing upwards a-t the pearly drops, or down into the darker 
floods, seeing, in each, fantastical or profound minglings of the 
light and shade of life. Many a touching historj- of joy and 



m 



THE SMILE OF THE FOUNTAIN. 27 

sorrow, many an earnest lesson of cheer and of chiding, he 
read in this mystic page ; and though sometimes the sadder, 
he yet grew ev^er wiser and stronger by their teachings. 

" One quiet summer evening, thus musing in pleased abstrac- 
tion, his face grew beautiful with the light of pleasure as his 
eye caught the reflection of a smile, sweeter than often blesses 
either the waking or sleeping vision of the dreamer. More than 
once before he had seen this spirit of the waters — for spirit 
only he seemed to think it, since it never had occurred to 
him to look up for the original of the sweet face. I know 
not how long he m.ight now have continued to gaze upon the 
beauteous image, had not a light, merry laugh at his side 
recalled him to earth, and revealed to his startled perceptions 
the living form of the fair being whom he had worshipped 
only as a dream. 

" Frederic Marzan — so was the youth named — bowed slightly, 
half involuntarily, and half as in apology for the temerity of 
his intent gaze. 

" ' You are a devoted dreamer, sir,' said the lady. ' I have 
been looking in vain for the object of 3^our search in the 
fountain. Pray, may I ask what you see there so charming?' 

" ' A vision of beauty, madam,' answered Frederic, his truant 
speech quickly brought back by her gay and cordial voice and 
manner, and speaking with his Avonted grace and gallantry, 
though with an earnestness and truth of expression not always 
the soul of such graces — ' a vision, madam, scarcely less fixed 
in my memory and fancy, now that I look upon your living 
face, than when I watched its smile in the fountain.' 

" The lady laughed merrily, though evidently not displeased 
with the bold compliment. 

" ' Your courtesy, sir, is as graceful as it is long delayed,' 
she rejoined, in a voice of frank coquetry which her patrician 
face and bearing could well afford. 'I have often stood by 



28 THE KOMANCE OF AMEEICAN LANDSCAPE. 

your side "here, wondering wliat odd confidences you and the 
fountain were exchanging — what mad tales you were telling 
each other; yet never until now have you deigned to honour 
me with any consciousness of my presence.' 

" ' I never, madam, dreamed that the sweet smile that I 
beheld in the water was more than the image of my own 
teeming fancy. It ever brought in its train such a retinue of 
absorbing and happy thoughts and desires, as completely to 
withdraw my mind from all the actual about me.' 

" ' I am sorry then that I have broken the spell and released 
you from its grateful enchantment. Yet,' she continued, in a 
more serious tone, not unmingled with a feeling of thoughtful 
sadness, as she glanced at the threadbare attire and the anxious 
face of the friendless student, ' I do you a good service in 
calling you back to earth. It is not well, nor wise, for you 
to waste your hours in dreams, still idle and profitless, bright 
and winsome as they may be. Your fortunes seem yet to be 
made, and to be awaiting none but your own strong and will- 
ing hands. This enchanted land is not the place for you, Sir 
Pilgrim. You should be in the busy, acting world. Musing 
and dreaming are in fitting measure the nurse of achievement ; 
in excess, they only kill. Gather strength and purpose at the 
fountain, if you will ; but do not, too, spend it there.' 

"As the lady spoke, our hero's surprise at the unexpected 
seriousness of her speech, and at the grave character of her 
rebuke and counsel, half restrained the feelings of wounded 
pride which were gathering in his breast. Still, there was no 
little haughtiness in his voice and manner, as he replied — 

" ' You misjudge me, madam. I do not spend strength and 
purpose here. Frederic Marzan is not of the vile herd who 
basely sigh for what they dare not seize. As you think, my 
fortunes are yet to be built, and by my own unaided strength. 
I ask no mean prize in the world's gift, and I will have my 



THE SMILE OF THE FOUNTAIN. 29 

asking ! 'We may meet again, "wten you will not thus unjustly 
rebuke me.' 

" ' I do not doubt it,' said tlie young girl, looking stead- 
fastly into our hero's eyes, sparkling with haughty pride and 
high resolve. 

" ' Forgive my grave and gratuitous lecture,' she continued 
gaily, and kindly extending her hand, as she at length yielded 
to the impatience of her cavalier to resume their walk. 

" ' Thanks, many thanks, for your gentle kindness and for 
jonr counsel. It is not gratuitous — not vain. It gives me an 
incentive to effort which will conquer though all others fail,' 
said Frederic earnestly, as his burning lips touched her proffered 
hand. 

" ' Gone,' mournfully soliloquized the youth, turning his eyes 
from the retreating figure he had been watching until lost to 
his sight. ' Gone forever the Smile of the Fountain ! She will 
not come back again ; and if she should, what is that to me ? 
I may not look into the actual face, and draw from it glad 
imaginings, as I have done from the vanished image ;' and his 
brow darkened as he gloomily reviewed his own life and pros- 
pects, and thought of the great social gulf which he doubted 
not stretched between the stranger lady and himself. ' But,' 
he resumed, after a pause, and as a new courage seemed to 
cheer his soul, ' a truce to all vain sighs and sickly dreams, 
and let us see if will and work cannot bring back the Smile 
of the Fountain !' 

" From this hour, the whole character of Frederic Marzan 
was changed, or developed, rather. He was a youth no longer; 
but a man, with man's graver and deeper views of life, and 
with man's higher and firmer wish and will. He still often 
visited the fountain, and looked earnestly into its waters, but 
the old smile never again greeted his sight. Many forms stood 
around him, but in none did he discover the one he sought. 



%\: 



80 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAIN LANDSCAPE. 

Kow and then liis heart would beat more quickly, as light 
figures glided past him, and with inward trepidation he would 
seek to look beneath the veils which buried unanswering faces. 

" Despite his stern resolutions, which vfere for the most time 
invincible, oppressive memories of faded hopes would spring 
up, and, swelling into irresistible torrents, would in a moment 
tear away the strong pillars of the iron bridge which he had, 
with so great effort, sprung over the gulf of all sad bygones. 
Still, in every changeful mood, the fountain was his sure recourse 
— his hope or his consolation. He felt the subtile, healthy influ- 
ence of its smile always around him. It seemed to bless his 
life. 

" From the day of his rencontre with his unknown adviser 
his horoscope brightened. Pictures which had lingered in the 
shops were bought, and others found purchasers as fast as his 
pencil could execute them. His name began to be heard and 
honoured in the world. He made rapid strides in his profes- 
sional career. His fortunes brightened day by day ; success 
followed success ; eager patrons surrounded him ; and the fame 
which once seemed to him at such unattainable distance, now 
came unsought and almost unwelcomed. His studio was the 
favourite resort of the beauty and . fashion of the town. Many 
gay belles asked the immortality of his pencil ; many flattering 
smiles were lavished upon him ; but none Avhose light outslione 
the never-forgotten radiance of the Smile of the Fountain. 

" He mingled freely and incessantly in the social pleasures 
to which he was invited, and yet with an insouciance not quite 
suited to his brilliant prospects and early years. 

'"You seem marvellously indifferent, Marzan,' said a fashion- 
able lounger to him one day, while filling the sitter's chair, 
* to the smiles of our fair belles. Do none of the arrows reach 
your heart, or are you impervious ? But then you have such 
incomprehensible notions about women. Now there's that odd, 



THE SMILE OF THE FOUNTAIN. 31 

haugl%, but ruinously handsome and fearfully clever little witch, 
Edith Manners — I beg pardon of her stateliness — Miss Edith 
Manners. If you can withstand her charms, I give you up as 
hopeless. By the Avay, how is it that you have never painted 
her portrait? Why, my dear boy, you might paint our peer- 
less though perverse Edith, and then contentedly die. Why, 
'pon my word, you are a Goth not to have done it long ago 
— the picture, I mean — not the dying.' 

"'I have not the honour of Miss Manners' acquaintance,' 
said the artist, coldly. 

" * Not the honour of her acquaintance !' resumed the visitor. 
* Why, really, per hacco ! you astound me ! There is still a 
hope for you, when you do know her, as you soon shall. 
I'll manage the thing for you. Nothing is ^' 

" ' Pray do not trouble yourself on my account.'* 

" ' 0, my dear friend, no trouble, I assure you : au contraire, 
a pleasure. Why, she is just the woman to suit you ; and I 
am positive — no compliment — that she will fancy you. Queer 
creature ! I don't exactly understand her ; she has so many odd 
-^vays — does and says so many strange things! Why, would 
you believe it, at Mrs. Dashaway's, once, I joined a set of 
writing people, with whom she was talking about the character- 
istics of great men — Washington saving his country, and all 
that ; and when I said I hoped yet to have the honour of 
preserving my country, she said it was very possible, as Rome 
was saved by a goose ! Then everybody laughed, and I really 
should have thought the impertinent little wretch was quizzing 
me, if she had not explained that she meant to say that, if 
a goose could save a capital like Rome, what might not / do ? 
Shockingly complimentary in her, wasn't it ? Well, well, she does 
obliging things sometimes, though more often over the left than 
the right. When she goes to the opera, she sits in a private 
box, where no one can see her. She says she goes to hear 



82 THE ROMAIilCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

the music, not to see a puppet show ! It must be a great 
bore. Queer creature ! Why she'll turn her back upon any 
of our set — caj)ital fellows they are, too — at any time, to talk 
to some old fogy of a D. D., or to some seedy poet, or to some 
poor devil of a painter — no offence — nothing personal ; you don't 
belong to that sort, you know ; you're one of us, though I 
must say you are not very sociable — ^indeed, I may say (excuse 
me), a little stiff.' 

" ' Shut your mouth, if you please.' 

"'Aye?' 

" ' I am painting the lips.' 

" ' 0, ah, yes ! very good, very ; he, he, capital, 'pon honour I 
I must tell that to our fellows — he, he !' 

" Soon after this colloquy, or monologue, rather, the artist 
dismissed his sitter, and his thouglits lingered about the much 
discussed Edith. To tell the truth, he was not a little piqued 
that the most famous and spirituelle beauty of the city had 
never come to his studio, never invited his acquaintance, never 
even sought to meet him at any of the many reunions among 
their mutual friends : or even at the soirees given expressly 
in his honour, and by her own circle. 

" 'It is,' said Marzan, to himself, 'ww parti pris. She is too 
proud to follow the popular current, and she evidently avoids 
me simply because I am courted by all others. Eeally, I am 
curious to see this fabled Edith Manners.' 

"His eye at this moment rested upon a large canvass, which 
had long occupied such leisure hours as he could snatch from 
the toils of his manifold engagements. Gazing upon the picture, 
as he turned its face from the wall, an expression of sadness 
softened his look, and his thoughts flew far away from Edith 
Manners. 

" ' She must be a paragon, indeed, he mused, ' if she can 
make me forget my little unknown patroness ! Sliall I never 



THE SMILE OF THE FOUNTAIN. 83 

see lier again ? Will the fountain never more wear its old 
sweet smile ?' 

" The picture upon which he gazed was nothing less than 
a faithful memory of the scene at the fountain — the interview 
between Marzan and the young girl, which we have narrated 
at the beginning of our story. In every respect, it was a glo- 
rious production. Indeed, it was the artist's chef-d'oeuvre^ as the 
public -enthusiastically pronounced it when it soon after enriched 
the Annual Exhibition of the National Academy. 

" ' Strange !' whispered the curious public, when it was told 
that the painter kept the work himself, refusing for it almost 
fabulous prices. 

" Mr. Manners, who in the meanwhile had made the artist's 
acquaintance, sought by every means to possess himself of the 
picture, without avail. 

" ' Surely,' said the young misses and the old gossips, ' it 
must have a history ! Marzan is as romantic as he is proud 
and reserved, and has, no doubt, had more adventures than it 
pleases him to relate.' 

" ' Have you never observed,' said Clara B , ' how m.uch 

the lad resembles Marzan himself?' • 

" ' And, surely, I have seen the girl somewhere. Who can 
she be ? Dear me, how provoking !' rejoined Julia Gr . 

" Marzan's m.otive in exposij:ig his picture of the Smile of 
the Fountain is of course apparent enough; but it failed in 
its intent, giving him no clue whatever to the solution of the 
riddle of his life. The Exhibition closed, the picture came back, 
and months yet flew by, while no trace could be found of 
the stranger-lady. 

" Marzan's acquaintance with Mr. Manners was followed by 

repeated invitations to his house, which our hero, however, from 

some cause, uniformly declined: though at length mere courtesy 

forbade the right to deny the urgent and personal solicitations 

8 



34 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

of the gentleman. ' The party is to be a masque,' said Mr. 
Manners. 'It is a fancy of my wilfal child; and, to tell the 
truth, she is particularly desirous of your company. You must 
not refuse us.' 

" The hour -for the much talked of entertainment arrived, 
and Marzan set forth, though reluctantly, to keep his engage- 
ment. If he felt any interest in the affair at all, it was in 
the promise it gave him of meeting one of whose graces and 
gifts he had heard so much. Still, this interest was not so 
marked as to bring the slightest feeling of vexation, when he 
learned that Edith was too indisposed to receive her guests. 

" The evening wore on, with brilliant success. Frederic 
found no want of occiipation. He was an especial favourite 
with everybody, young and old — with the gay and thoughtless, 
for his graces and wit, and with the grave and wise, for his 
sterling worth and wisdom. Many a fair masque greeted him, 
and sometimes he would be challenged by a whole bevy of 
madcaps. He played his part well, yet scarcely with the eclat 
which his reputation promised. In truth, his interest was con- 
centrated upon a fair form, simply clad, gliding hither and 
thither, and winning but passing notice from any. 

" ' Who is yonder solitary lady ?' he vainly asked of all 
he met. 

" After a while, stealing away from the gay groups, he 
found himself, to his great relief, in a little boudoir at the 
end of the rich suite of drawing rooms. Much to his surprise, 
he saw among the decorations of the walls of this fairy 
bower, several of his own early pictures, which had been pur- 
chased in his humbler days by an unknown patron. He was 
gazing at these surprises — a thousand novel thoughts and fancies 
crowding his perplexed brain: — when a hand was laid softly 
upon his arm, and," turning quickly, he beheld the figure of 
the humble masque. 



THE SMILE OF THE FOUNTAIN". 35 

" ' Are you a lover of art ?' slie asked, pointing to tlie 
pictures. 

" ' As a child loves its mother ! Is it not the sunshine 
and soul of my life?' 

" ' Ah, you are a painter then, sir ! How do you like my 
friend Edith's gallery ?' 

"Frederic shrugged his shoulders, with an unaccountable 
want of complaisance ; but it seemed not rude to the lady, , 
for she laughed gaily. 

" ' Upon my word, you are no courtier,' said she. ' Cer- 
tainly, your ungracious verdict cannot grow out of professional 
jealousy. Come, be honest, and confess that he gives promise 
— rare promise.' 

" ' Certainly,' returned Marzan, abstractedly. 
" ' Which he has nobly honoured,' continued the lady, ' in 
his famous picture of the Smile of the Fountain, for the works 
you see before you are from the easel of no humbler artist 
than Frederic Marzan.' 

" ' Do you know,' she continued, seeing that her auditor 
was little disposed to reply, 'why the artist so cherishes that 
picture of the Fountain?' 

" ' Indeed, fair lady, how should I ?' answered Marzan, con- 
descending at last to speak. 'Some caprice, perhaps, or ' 

" ' Oi', perhaps, it may be the loving record of some story 
of his hidden life. You painters and poets, I know, sometimes, 
shrinking from fuller expression, indulge in the relief of such 
vague confidences. The artist, I am told, has traced his own 
features in the face of the hero ; and they say, that his earlier 
life knew the poverty and struggle expressed in the character. 
The heroine, too — if, as I doubt not, her portrait be drawn 
from nature — ^ still remembers, if she ever felt, the Smile of 
the Fountain.' 

" ' No, no !' interrupted Marzan, sadly, ' if such a memory 



36 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE, 

ever interested her heart, it must have been forgotten long ago. 
"Women are too changeable to love so unselfishly or so con- 
stantly.' 

" ' Fie ! ungallant masque ! Did I know the artist, and 
knoAv, too, the secret of his picture to be such as my romance 
has fashioned it, I would tell him that that fair face, his memory 
has recalled, is the index of a soul earnest and devoted as his 
own. There are women, sir, who can love from pure and truth- 
ful impulses — love, entirely and forever, from impulses at vari- 
ance with every lesson of selfishness. But men — are they capable 
of such noble disinterestedness? Your artist here, alas! has most 
likely forgotten, long ago, the Smile of the Fountain in the 
more brilliant smiles of flattery and fame. It lives now in his 
brain, and not in his heart. He remembers it as a graceful 
theme for the display of his genius.' 

" ' Madam !' gasped Marzan, impetuously, and as if utterly 
forgetful of all but one thought, ' do not desecrate the most 
holy memories by such light words. Spare me, I pray you ; 
I am that Frederic Marzan, and I loved the lady of the 
Fountain.' 

" ' And you still love her ?' asked the stranger, in a low, 
tremulous voice. 

" ' Now and ever ! Would that I could find her ! And 
yet, it were better that I should not. Now, she is to me a 
tliought of beauty : to meet her again would be only to kill 
that sweet memory; to meet her, and find in her eye and 
heart no reflection of my own mad love.' 

" ' Folly, sir ! Seek her, and ^^ou will find a reality more 
beautiful than your abstraction. Believe me, that if she ever 
loved jow^ she ' 

" * And why do you s]3eak so confidently ? who are you ?' 
asked Marzan, seeking to read the features of the lady through 
her masque. ' I am mad, no doubt ; but your earnest voice 



THE SMILE OF THE FOUNTAIN", 37 

— your merry laugli — I have heard both before ! Heard them 
in my dreams — am I dreaming now ? are you ' 

" ' An humble gu-1, not worth your better knowing. My 
face does not wear your lost smile.' 

" ' Still, let me see it ! I must see your face.' 

" ' If you so much desire it,' the lady whispered, as she 
removed' her masque. 

" ' I knew, I knew it must be so !' he cried, gathering the 
light form of the now laughing girl in his passionate embrace. 
' My long-sought treasure ! Mine again, and always — however 
poor and unfriended — however ' 

" ' Edith ! my daughter !' exclaimed the astonished Mr. Man- 
ners, entering the little room at this surprising juncture. 

" ' Edith Manners ?' repeated the scarcely less bewildered 
artist. 

" ' Edith Manners !' merrily echoed the beautiful girl, and 
giving him the hand which he had dropped — 'Edith Manners, 
the Smile of the Fountain !' " 

Mr. Flakewhite here ended his romance, amidst the thanks 
and congratulations of his audience. 

"Eather highfaluted," suggested Mr. Megilp. "Flakewhite 
must feel relieved, with such a weight off bis mind." 

"A little agonizing, I adnjit," remarked the worthy chair- 
man; "yet I shall always look upon the old fountain hereafter 
with a new and loving interest, even though the association 
be but imaginary." 

" And besides," added Mr, Vermeille, " our book must have 
thought and fancy of every shade : which it will not lack, 
if we each express ourselves in our stories as Flakewhite has 
done. It is not likely that any two of us will think or feel 
in the same vein. Brownoker, for instance, would have painted 
ihe fountain in a very different tone." 



38 THE EO:\[ANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

" Apropos," said tlie gentleman just alluded to, "I must 
tell you — yes, I know that it is getting late, but I will detain 
you only a few minutes (tliis was addj^essed to Mr. Deepredde, 
as be took out liis Avatcli, witli a deprecatory look at the 
speaker) — a little reminiscence of our theme, not quite so in- 
tense as Flakewhite's, but equally true. 

" Passing through the Park one quiet moonlight night, (will 
that do for a beginning ?) I saw a citizen — whether Mr. Frederic 
Marzan, or not, I cannot say — gazing fixedly into the fountain, 
with a face and general expression of hopeless desolation which 
reasonably enough might have brought to mind the figure of 
Marius in the dumps at ruined Carthage. He had cluxibed 
over the railing, and was perched upon the very brink of the 
great basin. A few bubbles only fell from the jet to distui'b 
the water, leaving the reflections of all the surroundings 
unbroken. 

" ' Good gracious !' soliloquized the watcher, cuiiously peer- 
ing into the flood, ' who the deuce has — ger-got into the fer- 
fountain ? I say, you there, ster-stranger, wer-what are you 
ber-ber — about, in there ? That's a de-damp place, my fer-friend ! 
you'll catch ker-cold, I am afraid. I ker-can't hear wh-what 
he says, but I see his lips me-move. Wh-what an ugly ker- 
customer he is ! Wh-what a sh-shocking te-tile ! He must be 
de-diamk — drunk ! 

" ' I say there — who's ger-got into the fer-fountain ? Does 
yer m-mother know you're ou-out? — I m-mean does she know 
yu-you're in ? You mustn't st-stay down there, old ch-chap ! 
Here, I'll 1-lend you a h-hand. It sha'n't be ser-said that I 
d-didn't help a f-fcllow creature in der-distress ! Steady, now 
st-stranger,' — bending forward, and reaching down his arm to 
aid his submerged companion, — 'st-steady, or you'll be up-s-set. 
Why d-don't you take hold ? Now ! Aye ? — c-can't reach ? 
you're a der-damed fool ! 



THE MAjST m THE FOUNTAIN. 89 

" ' Decidedly lie's d-drunk !' soliloquized the watclier, as lie 
rested a moment from his office as a member of the Humane 
Society — 'd-drunk as the d — 1; but — I'll h-help him! Per- 
perhaps he's a first-rate f-fellow — he m-mnst be — he looks a 
good d-deal like m-me, when I'm excited. Here, old b-boy, 
take my h-hand !' 

"Here Marius, reaching over a little too far, fell forward, 
and had I not caught himv by the tail of his SAviftly vanishing 
coat, he would soon have found out who had 'g-got into the 
f-fountain !' 

" ' Thank you, my f-friend, you're a — b-brick,' he said, as I sat 
him on his pins again. 'You're another s-sort, you are, from 
that infernal s-scoundrel — d-down there in the f-fountain. When 
I lent the ugly d-dog a hand, to h-help him out, he p-pulled 
me in ! B-blame me if I ever h-help a f-fellow "creature in 
d-distress again !' " 

A general laugh, and a general looking for hats, followed 
Brownoker's "Smile" of the Fountain. 



CHAPTER III. 

''Now, gentlemen," said the respected chairman to the guests 
gaily chatting around our blazing fire on the memorably cold 
night of our next reunion, "if you are comfortably thawed, 
we will take our seats, and, giving rein to the steeds of Mem- 
ory and Fancy, prance along upon our journey," 

" And where, pray, are we to go to-night ?" asked Mr. 
Brownoker, stumbling, as he turned to say it, upon the tender 
toes of Mr. Blueblack. 

"Go to " 

"Virginia," we hastily added, by way of improving the 
unpleasant itineraire which Blueblack was evidently marking 
out for his awkward neighbotir. 

" A pleasant destination enough, and sufficiently warm even 
for this wintry night," returned Brownoker. "Always count 
me in, where the Old Dominion is concerned ;" and the united 
lungs of the company merrily helped him through the chorus 
of " Carry me back to old Virginny— to old Virginia's shore 1" 

" ' Old Virginia's shore !' " musingly echoed Mr. Deepredde, 
when the impromptu burst of melody had subsided—" a noble 
theme, regarded in any and every light; whether we consider 



42 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE, 

the adventurous incidents of her early history, the bravery and 
gallantry of her joeople, and their signal services to our coun- 
try in every phase and period of its life ; or whether we 
explore its rich and varied stores of natural beauties and 
wonders." 

"In the abundance and quality of her poetical and romantic 
reminiscence and suggestion," said Mr. Vermeille, " Yirginia is 
unquestionably the laureate of our sisterhood of nations. She 
was born of the most gallant and creative spirit, and in the 
most daring and chivalrous age which the world has ever known 
— the memorable and mighty days of Elizabeth — herself, if you 
will, only the hard, ungiving flint, yet magically striking the 
light of thought and action from all the dormant genius and 
power which came within the range of her influence. Our 
queenly State grew up a worthy daughter of her great jDarent- 
age, and in all her history has evinced, as she still perpetu- 
ates, its noble spirit. Her whole story is replete with musings 
for the poet, and with philosophy for the historian. What a 
web of romance may yet be woven from the record of the 
dangers, trials, and hair-breadth 'scapes of her infant life ; from 
the first venture of the restless Ealeigh, through all the bold 
exploits of the gallant Smith, the troublesome diplomacy of 
the wily Opecacanough, the dangerous jealousy of Powhattan, 
the plots of the traitorous Bacon, to the thrilling drama of 
the gentle Indian princess. And again, in older days — in the 
days of border strife, of bold struggle with the united strategy 
and cruelty of the French intruder and the vengeful red-skin 
— she gives us chronicles which, while scarcely yielding in 
dramatic interest to the incidents of earlier periods, rise higher 
in the force of moral teachings ; while yet again, onward and 
later, there opens to us the still more thrilling and more lofty 
story of her mature life, in the proud deeds and grand results 
of her participation in our eventful Eevolution. The be-all 



THE TRAVELLERS IN VIRGINIA. 43 

and the end-all of that achievement it is not our place now 
to ask. Much as the world has seen, afid much more as it 
hojDes, of mighty consequence, the stupendous effect is not yet 
felt, not yet dreamed of, perhaps; but for what has come, and 
for what will come, to Virginia belongs much of the glory— 
the glory of striking the first blow, by uniting the colonies 
in resistance to foreign border encroachment ; whik the last 
blow, thirty long struggling years beyond, fell also from her 
gauntletted hand, when the conquered Cornwallis laid down his 
shamed sword on the plains of Yorktown. Virginia then led 
the sounding shout of freedom and empire which has danced in 
glad echoes over the Alleghanies, skimmed the vast valleys of 
the Mississippi and the prairies of the great West, crossed the 
snow-clad peaks of the Eocky Mountains, and kissed the far- 
off floods of the Pacific — a shout which now, more than ever 
fills the rejoicing air, and which must grow in grandeur and 
melody until it shall exalt and bless the heart of all the 
earth." 

" It was all a mistake, my dear boy," said Brownoker, grasp- 
ing the hand of the exhausted Vermeille, " all an inexcusable 
mistake, that you were not yourself born in the shadow of 
the Blue Eidge ! You should have lineally descended from 
that pretty brunette, Pocahontas, and have figured in the family 
bible of the first of the first families ! Here ! light this pipe 
of Eappahannoc, and give yet another puff" to the fair god- 
daughter of the virgin queen, and to the blessed memory of 
Sir Walter, for the inestimable gift of the fragrant weed. 
Truly you have said that the deeds of the ' Old Dominion' 
supply volumes of romance and philosophy ;" and the o-rave 
Brownoker dropped into a brown study, and seemed to' be 
rising to the height of the highest argumeat in each field, fact 
and fiction, with the dense clouds of smoke which he sent 
curling above his head. 



44 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

Vermeille's first impulse, upon this irreverent response to 
his eloquence, was to extinguish the offender with the " rosy" 
at his elbow, as the good knight was " put out" by his fright- 
ened servant, when all a-fire with the soul of old Virginia. 
But he thought better of it, and quietly added to his eulogy 
the suggested puff. 

" I forgive your gross raillery," said he, " knowing, as I 
do, that beneath your seeming earthiness there yet lives the 
true spirit of poetry." 

" Else, my dear Vermeille, should I not, like yourself, and 
all of us here, spend my life in pursuit of the true and beau- 
tiful in Nature and life. We are brothers in feeling, believe 
me, though our thoughts do not patronize the same tailor 
Forgive my interruption, and let us proceed. Who speaks 
next ? ' Old Virginny never tire,' as the poet has it." 

" Among the proudest boasts that Virginia may make," said 
Mr. Flakewhite, picking up the lost thread of the discourse, 
" is the extraordinary number of great men which she has 
given to the nation. During half the life-time of the Eepublic, 
its highest of&ce has been conferred upon her sons, who have, 
in turn, nobly reflected back upon the country the honour 
they have received. Not only has she been mother of many 
and the greatest of our Presidents, but she has reared leaders 
for our armies and navies, law-givers for our senates, judges 
for our tribunals, apostles for our pulpits, poets for our closets, 
and painters and sculptors for our purest instruction and our 
highest and most enduring delight. Scanning the map of mid- 
dle Virginia, the eye is continually arrested by hallowed shrines, 
the birth-places, the homes, and the graves of those whom the 
world has most delighted to honour. Here we pause within 
the classic groves of Monticello, and look abroad upon the 
scenes amidst which Jefferson so profoundly studied and taught 
the world. There, in the little village of Hanover, the burning 



GREAT MEN OF VIRGINIA. 45 

words of Patrick Henry first awakened the glowing fire of 
liberty in the bosoms of liis countrymen ; and here, too, the 
great Clay was nurtured in that lofty spirit of patriotism from 
which sprung his high and devoted public service. Not far 
off, we may bend again, reverently, over the ashes of Madison 
and Munroe, of Lee and Wirt, and of a host of others whom 
but to mention would be a fatisfuinoc task. 

" Yet there remains unspoken, though not forgetfully, one 
other name — the first and greatest, not of Virginia only, not of 
this wide Eepublic alone, but of the world itself; a name 
which may well and without other laurel glorify the brow of 
a nation — the immortal name of Washington! It is anions: 
the regrets of my life that, when in Virginia, circumstances 
denied me the coveted pleasure of -visiting the sacred spot 
which gave birth to the noblest of our race. Some one of 
our number has, I hope, been more blest than I; and to him 
I will now give place." 

" It is several years ago," said Mr. Blueblack, after a pause, 
" that I made a pilgrimage into the pleasant fields of West- 
moreland, and, upon the sunny banks of the Potomac, mused 
over the birth-place of Washington. The landscape, in its 
broad and simple, yet picturesque and genial character — in its 
spirit of solemn, yet happy quiet — induced reflection admirably 
harmonious with the temper of him whose life and deeds have 
cast over it an universal and unfading attraction and beauty. 
I need not say that the hours flew swiftly, as I recalled all 
the absorbing pages of that great historj^, of which the spot 
was the winning initial letter. Yet, with my pleasure, were 
mingled some regretful thoughts : meditations upon our want 
of that feeling of veneration and reverence by which tlie mem- 
ory of the past is kept green and its examples and teachings 
preserved. The destruction of the religious and poetic element 
under the crushing weight of the rubbish of that gross mate- 



46 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

rialism which we dignify with the names *of practicality and 
action; — this unlovely phase of our national character was here 
strikingly evident, in the utter neglect of this the most hallowed 
spot in our land — a spot which should be adorned by the best 
efforts of our liberality and our art, and which should be a 
Mecca to our feet. And yet, of all our millions of people, 
rarely does a solitary pilgrim seek this holy ground; and not 
the poorest votive offering, not the simplest monument, marks 
the spot to recall to ourselves, or to our children, its beauti- 
fully suggestive story." 

" Do we need such symbols ?" asked Mr. Brownoker, " in 
this rational age, which very properly values and remembers 
action by its results only ? ' Feeling as we do, everywhere 
around us, the influences of great virtues and great genius, 
what matters it to us from whom or from where we have 
received them. In the dark and ignorant days of the past, 
monuments and statues may have been public instructors ; but 
we learn by better means. Do they not savour of that spirit 
of superstition ever akin to ignorance and weakness?" 

"It is," resumed Mr. Blueblack, "this very practical tendency, 
with its disdain for forms, which you commend, that makes it 
of the greater importance to cherish these outward symbols of 
the inner soul, lest with the one, the other shall cease to be 
remembered. In the same spirit, you would doubtless pull 
down the soaring spires which direct our thoughts to heaven, 
cease the ceremonies of our sacred worship, and trust the 
preservation of religious and moral principle to the pure con- 
science of each man alone. But that, alas ! may not be. The 
world is not good and holy enougli to dispense with these 
monitors. Virtuous promptings and reproofs are. still of use. 
If there be weakness confessed, and credulity evinced, in a 
regard for the forms and draperies of truth, let us still 
acknowledge that we are not gods, rather than, in losing all 



MONUMENTS AND STATUES. 4.7 

sight and thought of virtue and beantj, show ourselves to be 
brutes. Besides, it is but just to those whose lives and deeds 
have blessed us, and to their children forever, that we should 
acknowledge and reward their services. It is but wise in 
ourselves to use the incentive to virtuous achievement, which 
we may find in the remembrance and hope of the honours 
they win." 

" ' The lives of great inen all remind us we can make our 
lives sublime,' " suggested Professor Scumble. " Let us, in every 
possible way, venerate the past, lest the present come, in turn, 
to dishonour." 

"Even denjdng," said Mr. Flakewhite, "the great moral 
influence and need of such outward expression of our hearts, as 
we can make in the employment of monuments and kindred 
objects, they are still of inestimable value as missionaries of 
the refining and spiritualizing lessons of art: priceless even as 
ministers to our intellectual delight; to be dearly cherished if 
only for the innocent gratification which they bring to the 
senses." 

" Permit me to relate," said Mr. Deei^redde, " while I think 
of it, a little anecdote illustrating the relative respect of our 
own and other nations for hallowed objects and scenes. The 
incident occurred while I was once passing down the Potomac. 
jSTearing Mount Vernon, the passengers were, as is customary, 
informed of the fact by the ringing of the bell, and soon most 
of them were gathered on the side of the boat. "While our own 
people were gazing with idle curiosity or seeming indifference, 
some by the expression of their faces seeming to say, as they 
looked iipon the home and tomb of the Father of his Countrv, 
'Well! what of it?' and others, by their looks, evidently think- 
ing the whole thing but a shabby sort of affair: some passen- 
gers in the group — French gentlemen — gravely removed their 
Iiats and stood uncovered as the boat glided by : a deserved 



48 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

rebuke, wliich was keenly felt by every conscious scoffer and 
careless spectator," 

"By the way," added the chairman, turning to us as he 
finished his story, "is it intentionally, that you have led us to 
Yirginia on this especial night of the memorable twenty-second 
of February, the anniversary of the chiefest event in her 
history ?" 

" Our sermon," we returned, now for the first time producing 
our picture of the birth-place of Washington, "has singularly 
enough followed its unknown text. Our choice has been made 
not accidentally, but with reference to the occasion, and with the 
thought that it would well follow the ceremonies and reflections 
of the day." 

" An admirable chronicle of the spot," said Mr. Blueblack, 
as, with all the company, he bent over Mr. Chapman's gi^aphic 
drawing. 

"Let us thank Chapman," said Mr. Yermeille, "for his 
monument to the birth-place of Washington. It is not very 
pretending, but yet it will, with its still small voice, speak 
pleasantly and usefully to many hearts." 

" In parenthesis," said Brownoker. " Chapman is himself 
a Yirginian. He has given ns a worthy token of his home 
love, in the picture of the baptism of Pocahontas, in the Eo- 
tuuda of the Capitol. I could have wished that he had taken 
the more dramatic story of the rescue of Smith — an event of 
national interest, upon which turned the destiny of the State;, 
while the baptism, however pleasing an incident, might _ or 
might not have occurred, and either way with no particular 
sequence." 

"Apropos, of our picture," said another speaker. "Is it not 
strange that while Yirginia is no less singularly interesting in 
her physical than in her moral aspect, she has won so little of 
the attention of our landscapists ? Despite the extent and 



THE LANDSCAPE OF VIRGINIA. 49 

variety of her scenery, from 1:he alluvial plains of the eastern 
division, through the picturesque hills and dales of the middle 
region, onward to the noble summits of the Blue Kidge, with 
their intervening valleys and mountain streams and waterfalls, 
the white-cotton umbrella of the artist has scarcely ever been 
seen to temper its sunshine, except in a few instances of par- 
ticularly notable interest — as the Natural Bridge, and the grand 
views near Harper's Ferry. The landscape of Virginia is every- 
where suggestive ; and, even in the least varied regions, con- 
tinually rises to the beauty of a fine picture. There are the 
rich valleys of the James and the Roanoke rivers, said in 
many of their characteristics to resemble the beautiful scenery 
of the Loire and the Garonne; and far off, among the hills, are 
the rushing and plunging waters of the great Kanawha, and the 
beetling cliffs of New River. Yerily, we painters have too much 
neglected our duties and privileges in this case." 

"Too much 'renounced the boundless store of charms which 
Nature to her votary yields,' " echoed Professor Scumble. 

"The brother seems to forget," said Mr. Brownoker, "that 
the field which we have to cultivate is of vast extent, and that 
numerous and gifted as are our landscape painters, they have 
yet scarcely had opportunity to look about them. In due time 
the forests and fields of Virginia, as of all the land, will find 
fitting record. That the laadscape of the Northern States 
should first win the study of our artists, is natural enough, if 
but from the more ready access they have to it — the chief 
portion of them being gathered in this great centralizing city 
of New York. At present, the scenery of Virginia is better 
known to the general traveller than to the artist; which per- 
haps comes from the social attractions of the famous watering 
places, and the extraordinary number of eccentricities in the 
landscape; neither of which are greatly sought by the artist, 
much and properly so, as they may charm the mere pleasui'e- 
4 



50 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

seeking tourist. Every body goes to tliat wonderful place, the 
ISTataral, or, as in its massive grandeur and its strange form it 
appears to the astonished eye, the Unnatural Bridge ; while the 
most blas(^ curiosity is always raised in the ghostly halls of the 
great weird caves — Brownoker will take notice that no pun is 
intended." 

"You seemed," interrupted Mr. Brownoker, "to think the 
cave weird enough on that unl ucky visit we made last summer, 
when, after much vain effort to get out, we finally laid down to 
rest and to wait for daylight, — and kept waiting for forty-eight 
long hours, — waiting, afraid to step, lest we should jump from 
Scylla to Charybdis — waiting until our anxious friends discovered 
us, in a rayless nook of the Dragon's rooms, exactly a dozen 
steps from the entrance and all out-doors 1 and it is not sur- 
prising that the terrible Bridge appeared somewhat ?/?z-naturai 
to you, when your self-sacrificing gallantry so fatally led you to 
climb beyond return, after the flower of a certain fair girl's 
wish, and you hung like the samphire gatherer at his dreadful 
trade, the laugh, the jest, and riddle of the world — of merry and 
provoking eyes below you." 

"I once," said Mr. Megilp, "had the folly to ventui'e, alone, 
amidst the dark and dangerous passages of Weir's Cave, and I 
was lost to the world for four mortal days, during all which 
dreadful time I was vainly seeking a means of egress. My 
torches were all burnt out, and I went day after day, and night 
after night, wandering up and down from one ghostly chamber 
to another: now thumping my aching head against the pillars 
of ' Solomon's Temple' : now entrapped, apparently past all 
rescue, in the labyrinth of the 'Lawyer's Office': now whirled 
around distractedly on the spacious floor of the ' Ball Eoom' : 
asking a bill of relief in the ' Senate Chamber' : making the air 
vocal with my cries of distress at the base of ' Paganini's 
Statue' : and anon freezing to death in 'Jacob's Well,' with 



ADVENTURE IN WEIR's CAVE. 51 

no vision of a ladder by ivliicli to escape. It was a fearful 
imprisonment, the very, recollection of which, even at this re- 
mote day, makes my blood run cold. All my garments were 
torn from my back, and my flesh was horribly lacerated by 
continual rubs against the sharp angles of the stalactites. I — " 

"You must have had a very hard time indeed," interrupted 
Blueblack, with an incredulous smile. "How did you manage 
to live?" 

"To live?" 

" Yes : what did you find to eat through all that extra- 
ordinary four days?" 

" Ah, yes ! I lived — lived — on fish !" 

"Fish! Where did you get them?" 

"Get them? Oh, you know — those odd chaps, the eyeless 
animals — not equal to fresh shad, but still quite tolerable in 
an emergency — they taste a good deal like — " 

"You must make a mistake," persisted Blueblack. "You 
could hardly have lived on the eyeless fish, since they are to 
be found not in Weir's, but in the Great Mammoth Cave of 
Kentucky. Are you quite sure?" 

"Aye, well now, really, perhaps I may be wrong. But the 
fact is I lived — on something — let me see — but you know, I 
was so dreadfully alarmed at my extraordinary situation, that 
I really did not, do not, know how I lived — ^but that — " 

"You are dreaming, is very probable," said the disbelieving 
Blueblack. "But come, you have told us a very capital story, 
and it shall have all the credit it deserves." 

The company, assuring Mr. Megilp that they were not to be 
sold at so low a rate, rallied him merrily upon the painful ex- 
ploits of his fancy, and the grave current in which the talk of 
the evening had thus far run, changed to a strain of light 
humour and gay recollection; a strain which the reader would 
no doubt be pleased to follow, were we not inexorably com- 



52 THE KOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

pelled to omit the entire record from our minutes, lest we 
should lack space and time to report the closing episodes of 
the night. Among these interesting passages was an imaginary 
peep into the eventful and dangerous life of the early days of 
Virginia, afforded us by Mr. Blueblack in his touching tale of 



ITittk femii PEitiierliii. 

" The hearts of the brave colonists were heavy within them. 
Misfortunes and afflictions had so thickened upon and crushed 
them, that they were fain, even, to look askance upon their old 
friend Hope, so often had Hope cruelly betrayed them. 

"At the time of which we speak, the numbers of the little 
settlement — few at best — were gradually growing less, under the 
triple scourge of famine, pestilence, and the vengeful hatred 
of their savage neighbours. The good ship which was daily 
expected to bring relief to the sufferers, came not. In vain, 
with each succeeding dawn, did they strain their watchful eyes 
to catch a glimpse of its distant sails, and turn again in despair 
to the supplicating faces of their dying friends. 

"It needed all the strength and courage of the bravest to 
support and cheer the weak and desponding ; and, happily, 
brave hearts were not wanting in the hour of trial, though 
they sometimes came from unexpected quarters. Vapouring 
strength soon burnt to empty ashes in the fiery furnace of sor- 
row, and the true heroism blazed forth under its humblest 
disguises. Among the strong souls which the exigencies of the 
times developed was that of our heroine, Little Emma Mun- 
nerlin, or Little Emma, as she had been always called,' not 
so much from her physical diminutiveness, though she was 
but a wee thing, as from the quiet gentleness and the tender 
delicacy of her character. People lamented that a plant so 



LITTLE EMMA MUNNERLIN. 53 

fragile should not grow in a less rude soil ; yet, as tlie dainty 
forest-flower lives unscathed on its Alpine rock, while the giant 
irees fall prostrate, so our little Emma withstood many storms 
to which sterner natures succumbed. 

"Little Emma lived much among her own quiet thoughts 
and dreams. She seldom had a great deal to say, and her 
general humour was more pensive than merry ; yet when 
tongues were silent, and hearts grew heavy around her, smiles 
sprang into beautiful life upon her loving lips, and soothing 
and cheering words fell from them, abundant and grateful as 
jewelled drops of summer .showers. 

" Little Emma, in her modest humility, never ventured to 
question the wisdom even of her mates; and yet now, Avhen 
experienced matrons, and bearded men, and hoary-headed men 
were brought, they scarce knew how, to learn from her coun- 
sels, they stood in her simple presence with some such feeling 
of wondering reverence as that which filled the hearts of the 
Doctors while listening in the Temple to the preaching of the 
Holy Child. 

" Little Emma was by nature, physically and morally, at 
most times, extremely timid and sensitive ; all ugly objects, all 
evil thoughts, all human suffering, brought pain to her delicate 
soul ; and yet now, no one was found so continually at the 
couch of the sick and dying, no one so unwearied in her sacri- 
fices, as she. From morn to night, she was the gentle dove 
bearing the olive-branch of hope from door to door ; and but 
lately, she had saved the colony, by boldly venturing among 
the savage tribe into whose hands they had fallen, to exert 
the powerful influence which she had strangely won over them, 
through the stern heart of the young chieftain. 

" This singular conquest of poor little Emma's had long 
been as much a matter of fear as of rejoicing to the people ; 
for while they congratulated themselves upon the protection 



54 THE KOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

wliich it gave them, they shuddered at thought of the danger 
to which it might expose the gentle child. And now, when 
the extraordinary beauty and worth of Little Emma's character 
was daily growing into the knowledge and the love of the 
people, they watched with terror the strengthening passion of 
the savage wooer, trembling lest it might at some time over- 
step the sacred bounds to which the same power which had 
inspired had thus far restrained it, 

" Great as was the general concern on this score, there was 
one who, far above all others, was tortured by apprehension 
and dread — a worthy youth, who had been more prompt than 
others to discover the charm of Little Emma's nature, or had 
rather, perhaps, been drawn unconsciously within the spell of 
its influence ; one whose assumed right to advise and guard 
her, she had never thought to deny. 

" Often and earnestly did this privileged friend remonstrate 
with her upon the rash confidence with which she ventured 
among her savage admirers, and more especially did he warn 
her against the danger of her unsuspecting trust of the enam- 
oured chief. 

" ' It is true,' said he, ' that he possesses a native dignity, 
chivalry, and refinement of nature unwonted to his people, and 
strange to all the circumstances and influences under which he 

O 

has been born and bred — characteristics which his extraordinary 
esteem for joix has wonderfull}^ developed and exalted. Thus 
far, the truth and depth of his passion — for he loves you with 
a sincere and pure worship that would do honour to the most 
Christian soul — has made him the humble and yielding slave 
to your will ; but have a care, my darling, lest he become 
mad in the tortures of hope delayed, and this same earnest- 
ness and truth which,- thus far, have been your shield, should 
turn to your destruction. I tremble when I think of the 
terrible mine under your feet, and which a single spark of 



LITTLE EMMA MUNNERLIK. 55 

fancied scorn may spring. Believe me, Emma clear, tliat yon 
are playing with a sleeping lion.' 

" These warnings, often repeated, were not without their 
effect upon the mind of Little Emma, especially when, as she 
sometimes did, she thought she discovered a growing expres- 
sion of restless and angry impatience in the dark eyes and 
the passionate words of her savage wooer ; yet she still con- 
tinued to meet him freely and frankly when he came, as he 
often did, to the village — as he had done, indeed, through all 
his life. 

" ' What have I to fear ?' she said to her own heart ; 
'and if there is danger, I cannot, to save myself, bring down 
their fearful vengeance upon all my beloved friends. What 
is my poor useless life in comparison with the general hap- 
piness ?^ 

" At length when, in one of these frequent interviews, 
Outalissi — so was the chief named — sat by the river-side, at 
the feet of Gentle-Heart, as in his poetic tongue he called our 
Little Emma, he told her the story of his love, in a voice 
so soft yet so earnest, and in words so simple yet so passion- 
ate, that her tender heart overflov/ed with intense interest and 
sympathy, as she sought to calm his wild emotion, and to 
teach him how impossible it was for the white dove to mate 
with the lordly eagle. 

" Edward EQirrison, the youth of whom we have before 
spoken, and who of late had never lost sight of his betrothed, 
had been for some time an unobserved sjoectator of this scene. 
He now stood forth, with pallid face and angry eyes. Outa- 
lissi started to his feet as he clutched the weapon at his side, 
and glared upon the intruder with all the savagery of his 
race. 

" Little Emma sprang to cast her shielding arms about her 
lover, while she bent a reproachful and imploring look u|X)n 



56 THE ROMANCE OF AMEEICAN LANDSCAPE. 

the chief. The group stood thus, motionless and voiceless, foi 
some moments, when the Indian, with a bitter and meaning 
glance, which made the white youth tremble, and sank like 
ice into the heart of our heroine, turned slowly away, and 
was soon lost to sight in the darkening depths of the forelt 

" ' This can la^t no longer,' said Edward, wlien his speech 
came back to him, ' happen what may,' 

" ' No, no !' said the trembling girl, ' we must not madden 
him, and bring down the anger of his tribe upon our defence- 
less people, now, when they have so many other afflictions to 
bear. You must seek him — bring him back, and ' 

" ' Ha ! is it so ?' said the lad, with a bitter, unnatural 
laugh, ' You cannot part with him ! He has then stolen away 
your treacherous heart ! You love this ' 

" ' This — this from you, Edward !' gasped the poor child, 
stung to the soul by his cruel words. ' He — he might kill 
me, but he could not be unkind as you.' _ 

" ' Forgive me — forgive me, Emma ! I did not mean to say 
that. I was mad, and knew not what I did. But promise me 
that you will see him no more ; promise me this, or' 

'"Do not look upon me so! I cannot bear it! I — I 
promise !' 

"Days passed on, and Outalissi came back. He met Little 
Emma in the streets of the village, but she avoided him. He 
sought her at her own home, but was denied. He sent her 
messages, but received no answers. A heavy shadow darkened 
his brow, and chilled the hearts of the affrighted people. Their 
distress was hourly increasing, and hope and heaven seemed to 
have deserted them when Little Emma smiled no more. 

"As a last struggle against the famine which surrounded 
them, the best and bravest of the colonists noAV set forth on a 
forlorn quest for food. The vague forebodings with Avhich they 
undertook their dangerous mission proved to be not unreal; for 



LITTLE EMMA MUNNEELIN", 57 

the last drop seemed poured into tlie cup of tlie sufferers at 
home when the intelligence was brought them, not simplj^ that 
the errand was fruitless, but that their fathers and brothers and 
lovers were captives in the strong hands of Outalissi. 

"A cry of despair now arose from the hearts of all the 
devoted villagers, which was soon hushed into a strange ex- 
pectant stillness when the whisper grew that the exasperated 
chief refused all ransom for his captives but the willing hand 
of Little Emma. 

" ' Save us ! Save my father, save my son, — my brother !' 
was the universal and agonized voice, as the poor people gath- 
ered around the devoted girl, when she appeared calm as a 
statue, but as lifeless and as cold, in their midst. And then 
other thoughts and emotions rushing into theu' hearts, they 
forbade her to leave them, crying, ' We will all die together,' 

" With a look as .fixed, and a tongue as speechless, as that 
with which she came, Little Emma went back to her silent 
home, where she refused all counsel and all companionship, 

" The day for the payment of the exacted ransom, when, if 
it were not made, the captives were doomed to death, ap- 
proached, and an awful stillness reigned through the stricken 
village. All resistance was vain, and there was left but one 
hope — a hope of which they dared not speak or think. 



" Painfully and terribly different was the scene in the camp 
of Outalissi, Here a wild revelry rung through the air, as the 
delighted savages danced and shouted around their expected 
victims. 

" Casting a last eager but disappointed look into tlie gath- 
ering gloom, Outalissi turned to give the order for the massacre 
of his captives, when a shrill cry rose above all the mad con- 
fusion, and, the next instant, every sound was hushed as a 



58 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

young girl sprung into tlie midst of the grim throng and stood 
before the chief 

" ' Stay — stay your bloody hands,' she cried, ' I am yours — 
release your captives. Ah ! Outalissi, is it thus you woo me ?' 

" ' It is well, maiden,' he said, and in a few brief words he 
explained to the captives the terms upon which their lives and 
safety had been purchased. 

" ' You are free, my brothers,' he added, as he took the 
passive hand of Gentle-Heart in his own. 

*' ' Never, wretch !' cried Edward Harrison, as, breaking the 
thongs by which he was still bound, and snatching the hatchet 
from the hands of his guard, he sprung towards the chief. 

"'Stop, stop,' shouted Little Emma — 'you will but slay us 
all ! He keeps his promise in setting you at liberty, and I — I 
must keep mine! Go home — go, Edward — go, my father — go, 
my friends, carry joy with you to many breaking hearts! Pray 
for, but do not mourn for Little Emma !' 

" The solemn earnestness of the child's words, and the lofty 
courage which spoke in her whole air and action, paralyzed 
the tongues and the hearts of her friends and excited the won- 
dering admiration of the disappointed savages. It was one of 
those supreme moments, which bring forth all the purest emo- 
tions of the human heart; and Outalissi felt its hallowed spell. 
With his native nobility and generosity of character, he again 
took the hand of Little Emma and placed it with a sad smile 
in that of his rival. 

" ' Gentle-Heart may go back to her own people,' said he. 
' She is too good for Outalissi !' 

" I need not speak of the joy of the happy captives, or of 
the glad greeting which welcomed their triumphant return. 
Still less need I tell you how Outalissi faithfully protected 
Gentle-Heart and her people, for natures like his err only for 
a moment; or of the sunshine which lighted the after life of 



TOM, DICK, AND HARRY. 59 

Little Emma, for such souls as hers live always in sunshine — 
the sunshine of their own pure and beautiful thoughts." 



"We must omit the record of the congratulations and com- 
ments which followed Blueblack's deeply affecting narrative, 
further than to mention a remark with which Mr. Brownoker 
introduced another and gayer story. 

"I have a high respect for 'Little Emma,'" said that gen- 
tleman, " but I must protest against such agonizing histories, 
when one has no handkerchief in his pocket. I can give you 
a much more cheerful reminiscence of Yirginia, if you would 
like to hear it, as of course you would— don't shake your heads, 
for you must submit. My heroine is another kind of young 
person from Blueblack's, but then you know it takes all sorts 
of people to make a world. 'Tis a little personal adventure — 
happened on a visit to the Springs. I call it 



C0111, Sick, aii!^ Ictrrg. 



" Dick Bones was about to be married, and I was on the 

road to the fu the wedding I mean. The affair was to 

come off at the White Sulphur Springs. I looked over the 
way-bill before stepping into the coach : found only one pas- 
senger — Brown ; but who the deuce Brown was, didn't know — 
didn't want to know : plump'd myself down on the back seat 
— and a bundle, which bundle on inspection proved to be 
Brown in person and in a passion — said 'How are you?' to him: 
don't like to rejoeat what he said to me in reply. Tried to 
sleep, but what with the everlasting jolting over the hills — 
Byron was right in saying, ' High mountains are a feeling' — 



60 THE KOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

and Brown's distressing dreams of a certain faithless Jemima, 
couldn't manage it. 

" ' She never loved me !' muttered Brown. 

" ' Served you right,' said I. 

" ' Peace, peace, weary heart !' he continued. 

" ' Yes, peace, peace, for heaven's sake,' I answered. But 
there was no peace till morn, when, just as I was wondering 
what 'perilous stuff' was weighing upon the heart of my 
fellow traveller, I caught a glimpse of his sad phiz, and to 
my amazement recognized my old, long-absent friend, Harry, 
who, as it turned out, was, like myself, going to 'assist' at 
the sacrifice of our mutual crony, Dick Bones. 

" ' Alas, poor Dick !' said I, as the conversation turned upon 
the fate of our friend. ' This is a world of vicissitudes ; who 
would have thought it?' 

" ' Cut down in the flower of his youth !' said Harry, with 
a commiserating sigh. 

" ' Yerily, we know not what an hour or a day may bring 
forth,' I answered. 'Even you, Harry — you, the high priest of 
our bachelor faith, are not secure. Some treacherous Jemima — ' 

"'Jemima!' cried Harry, with a look of conscious guilt that 
confirmed my suspicions of his backsliding. 

" ' May yet come to break your virtuous rest and disturb 
your innocent dreams.' 

" ' Did I dream last night, Tom, and aloud ?' 

" ' Yery loud, about ' 

" ' Say no more, Tom — I own up ! I have been weak, but 
it's all over, long ago, and Harry is himself again. But the 
temptation was great' — so were Brown's sighs, as he continued. 
' The beauty and graces of my Jemima might have tried the 
sternest virtue; and when she persuaded me that her dainty 
heart was all my own, and that she could live only in the 
light of my dear love, what could I do but ' 



TOM, DICK, AND HARRY. 61 

" ' Think it all gammon, as became the spirit of your 
bachelor creed.' 

" ' As it all proved, indeed, to be ; for when, on my recent 
return from China, whither I went to win a fortune for the 
darling girl, I rushed to receive her welcoming embrace, what 
should I learn but that, while writing everlasting fidelity to 
me, she had been talking devoted love to another, and at that 
moment was dying for a third happy man — some richer prize 
than either myself or my unknown fellow sufferer. She and 
her innocent victim, whom she is soon to marry, are now, I 
am told, at the Springs, where we may have the pleasure of 
meeting them,' 

" ' And this, then, Harry, is your heroic recantation of error !' 
said I; but I had not the impudence to rally my poor friend 
very severely, not being myself too strongly armed in honesty; 
for the fact is, I, too, had once fancied myself the light and 
life of a Jemima's soul, only to find myself put out, as I 
might have expected, by the first brighter luminary which 
crossed the Jemima orbit. All this I generously confessed to 
Harry, much to his delight and comfort ; and we talked for 
hours about the vanity of women and the fallacy of love, 
rejoicing at our own lucky escape from their insidious snares, 
mourning over the mad credulity of our benighted friend, Dick, 
and becoming more " inexorable bigots in the bachelor faith than 
ever. Promising ourselves no little amusement in rejoining our 
fickle goddesses at the Springs — for there, too, I expected to 
find my Jemima — the day wore on, and our journey came to 
an end. 

"We arrived, fortunately, in season to greet and rally our 
devoted friend, Dick, before the hour of sacrifice. We did not 
spare the fellow, I assure you ; indeed, we were the more im- 
placable in the stinging remembrance of our own short-comings. 

" ' That's all very well, boys,' said Dick, with an imper- 



62 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN" LANDSCAPE. 

turbable and complacent smile. ' But let me tell you, scoffers 
as you are, that if the time has not yet come, it may come, 
when each of you will have 

" some plan 



To -win himself a loving -wife, 
And be a married man." 

When that hour does come, I only hope that you will find 
as beautiful and pure a shrine at which to confess your sins 
as I have. But come, I must present you to my jewel. It 
will be a pleasant surprise to her, for you must know that 
Jemima is acquainted with you both.' 

" ' Jemima again !' I exclaimed. 

" ' Jemima !' echoed Harry. 

" ' Jemima know me !' cried both of us. 

" ' Come, come along, boys !' interrupted Dick impatiently, 
dragging us towards a gay circle, and presenting us to its 
bright particular star. 

" ' Jemima, my love, I have the unexpected pleasure to 
bring you our old friends, Tom and Harry.' 

"As the lady turned to greet us, I stood petrified at dis- 
covering the very Jemima of my own love, and looking round 
at the sound of a stifled laugh at my elbow, I found Harry 
Brown choking with glee. 

" Harry looked at me, and I looked at Harry, and we 
both looked at Dick, and Dick looked at Jemima, and Jemima 
looked at all of us, and a more striking tableau, altogether, 
it would be very difficult to imagine ! 

" ' Aye, how ?' said Dick at last, nervously. ' What does all 
this mean, boys?' 

" ' That the lady should have been off with the old love 
before being on with the new,' said I. 

" ' That she should, pursuant to promise, have died long 



TOM, DICE, AND HARRY. 63 

ago, all for tlie love of poor Harry Brown,' said my travelling 
friend. 

" But tlie scene wliicli followed was entirely too dramatic 
for my poor powers of description ; and I Avill simply add, tliat 
Dick very soon saw through the whole affair, and the bride 
elect was given to understand that he was not generous enough 
to content himself with a third place in her heart, and was too 
unselfish to stand in the way of his old friends ! 

" The match was broken oif, and from that day to this our 
glorious triumvirate of bachelors has continued intact and in- 
vincible; so much so that we are known among our acquaint- 
ances by the soubriquet of the Shadrach, Meshech, and Abednego 
of celibates, having all passed through the burning fiery fur- 
nace of love unscathed. 

" You will, perhaps, suppose that with this triple weight of 
blighted affection on her memory, Jemima soon died of a bro- 
ken heart, but I assure you that she is still alive and as ready 
as ever for a first, fresh, and undying affection." 



On motion, meeting adjourned. 



CHAPTER IV. 

Having expressed a fear that our friends would grow weary 
of their self-imposed task, and most heartily wish our book at 
the — ^printers, we were cheered by a unanimous assurance of 
a deep and increasing interest in our reunions. 

" We need," said Mr. Deepredde, gravely, " in our profes- 
sion, as in all, and indeed in our whole social economy, more 
such fraternal association. It is the moral and intellectual 
sunshine which warms the hidden germ of thought into life, 
and matures it into the most thorough and successful achieve- 
ment. It is, in its multiform applications and uses, the lever 
which, of all others, must pry our poor sunken world out of its 
quagmire of ignorance and evil, and bring about — if it is ever 
to be brought about — the much talked of perfectibility of our 
race." 

" It strengthens those bonds of mutual esteem and love," 
added Mr. Flakewhite, " which smooth the rude places in our 
path, and make us hopeful and daring in the armour of the 
assured sympathy and appreciation of our confreres. How much 
more should we painters not do, if there dwelt between us that 
brotherly love which filled the soul of Gainsborough, when he 
"^5 



QQ THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

joyfully exclaimed to the friends gathered about his dying 
couch, ' We are all going to Heaven, and Vandyke will be 
of the party !' " 

" At any rate," said Brownoker, " such reunions as om-s, 
whatever they may be more assthetically considered, are in- 
valuable, if but for the pleasure they bring while they last. 
They cheer the present hour, and if we could be rational 
enough to content ourselves with this power, always within the 
reach, of enjoying the present moment, without, like the silly 
pendulum in the fable, burthening it with the thought of la- 
bours and trials not yet arrived, the aggregate would be a 
life-time of gladness. How the mountain of our miseries would 
sink, would we but cease to throw upon it the sorrows of the 
past, which we cannot recall, and the fears of the future, which 
is beyond our foresight or control." 

"Well, gentlemen," resumed Mr. Deepredde, as he sought 
to make himself more permanently comfortable in his chair of 
state, " now that we have satisfied ourselves that it is good for 
us to be here, let us convince our readers that it is salutary for 
them also, by continuing the special discourse for which they 
have so kindly yielded to us their patient buttons. Spread out 
your map, my dear host, and let us define our position." 

" We have one more tramp to make in the Old Dominion, 
as we follow Washington through the icy floods of the Alle- 
ghany," we replied, producing Mr. Huntington's picture of that 
memorable adventure. 

The members having duly studied the sketch of the evening, 
unanimously called upon the chairman for a resumd of the 
cause, course, and consequence of the event which it recorded. 

" The incident which our picture commemorates," said Mr. 
Deepredde, "had a great effect upon the fortunes of our coun- 
try, and was very significant of that high principle in the 
character of Washington — his conscientiousness and lofty respect 



THE ALLEGHANY; OE, THE MAN OF DUTY. 67 

for duty — from wbicli cliiefly sprung the virtues and successes 
of his hfe. It may be less tedious, perhaps, if I make my narra- 
tive in the fashion of a romance." 

A general cry of approval followed this suggestion, and 
the enth'e table seemed not a little curious to witness the dtSbut 
of the grave chairman on the treacherous stage of fiction. 

" Pray don't drown yourself in pathos," said Brownoker, 
laughingly. 

" Or disappear in the mystic labyrinth of plot and strategy," 
added Yermeille. 

" Or kill us outright," continued Flakewhite, " by being, like 
Holmes, as ' funny as you can.' " 

" Above all be truthful, and do not exceed sober fact," 
added the conscientious Megilp. 

" Gentlemen," said the afflicted novelist elect, " you must 
expect neither pathos, plot, humour, nor dramatic effect from me. 
They are not in my line. The truth, however, you shall have — 
and it seems to me a truth worth treasuring — which we may 
read in the story of 



All tongues were hushed, and an unwonted gravity spread 
over the company, as Mr. Deepredde thus solemnly and omi- 
nously announced his text. The general breathing, however, 
was more free when he thus beo;an: — 

" A hundred years have gone since the incidents which I 
am about to narrate transpired : a long, long lapse, gentlemen, 
in our country's brief life, and full of changes as the interval 
between childhood and manhood. 

" Gazing pensively into the passing floods ' of the Eappa- 



68 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

hannoc, as if asking of the murmuring waters the story of her 
fature life, sat a fair maiden, apparently of some sixteen tender 
summers. 

" ' "Would he leave me thus,' said she, ' if indeed he loved 
me? Does true love bend to any stronger passion? He talks 
to me of honour and duty! What is honour, what is duty, 
when ' 

" Here the soliloquist abruptly stopped, as a bounding step 
broke the quiet of the still night, and brought a stalwart and 
handsome youth to her side. 

" ' Honour and duty, my dear Martha,' said the lad, bending 
over her with an expression of kind yet grave reproof, 'are, 
not the rivals but the kindred of love. It would be a joy 
indeed for me to be always near you, but that may not be. 
Life has its labours and its sacrifices, in the manly and hon- 
est discharge of which we may earn a generous relish for its 
pleasures.' 

" ' And must you go then, dear Greorge ? What is the 
necessity for this dangerous and wearisome expedition? Why 
cannot some other perform the task as well as you?' 

" ' Ah ! do not tempt me ! You do not speak with your 
characteristic generosity. Eemember that the welfare of our 
country demands the labour and services of all her sons, and 
of her daughters, too,' he added, kissing her fair brow; 'and 
your only feeling on the subject should be one of pride that 
our worthy Governor has honoured me with so important a 
trust.' 

'"I am proud,' said the girl, ' of the high confidence reposed 
in you, and I am sure that you will prove yourself in all 
ways deserving of it. Heaven will protect you, and bring you 
back to me in safety. I have been told many stories, before 
the present, of your brave obedience to the calls of duty, 
and such a trait cannot but lead to success and happiness in 



THE ALLEGHANY; OR, THE MAN OF DUTY. 69 

life. But not to-morrow, George — you do not go to-morrow? 
You will give me one more day?' 

" ' To-morrow, Martha, at dawn, we must begin our marcli. 
The journey through the wilderness will be long, and it is 
important to the colony that we reach the French posts on 
the Ohio without unnecessary delay, that we may seasonably 
check their ambitious and aggressive schemes to hem us in on 
this side of the mountains.' 

" ' And have we not room enough ?' 

'"Plenty, at present,' laughed the lad; 'but a hundred years 
hence, we shall stretch our giant arms far beyond the Ohio — 
perhaps even to the distant waters of the Pacific. Who can 
read the destiny of this new and aspiring land?' 

" ' Well, well,' sighed the young girl. ' I do not quite 
understand these things, but I can sympathize with your en- 
thusiasm and your courage, and I will pray earnestly for your 
success.' 

" Long and lovingly did the youthful pair stroll up and 
down the noiseless river banks, until the lapse of time com- 
pelled the lad to guide his betrothed to her home hard by, 
and to seek that repose he himself so much needed before 
repairing to Williamsburg, to receive his instructions and com- 
mence his perilous explorations. 

" On the following morning, the 81st of November, 1753, 
a morning which, happily, was auspicious in its brightness, 
the good Governor Dinwiddle and the people of Williamsburg 
gave our adventurer God speed, and he set out ^Yith his few 
companions on his dreary traverse of the great untrodden wil- 
derness. Those who pass, at the present day, over the route 
which our young ambassador pursued, will scarcely infer from 
its condition now, the dangers which then beset it; with no 
path but the rough guidance of the compass, and with no 
inhabitants but wild beasts and scarcely less wild savages. 



70 THE ROMANCE OF AMEEICAN LANDSCAPE. 

"During the first fortnight, the little party traversed alter- 
nate forest and settlement, passing over the ground where now 
stand Fredericksburg, Alexandria, and Winchester. At the 
expiration of this period, they reached the last verge of civi- 
lization, at the junction of Wills' Creek and the Potomac, now 
occupied by the busy streets of Cumberland, in Maryland. At 
this period, the spot was marked by the poor settlement only 
of the famous hunter, Christopher Grist. Here our travellers 
proposed to halt for slight repose, and to increase the strength 
of their party by the enrolment of some Indian guides, and 
more especially with the good companionship of the stout old 
Kit himself. They had not, thus far, entered upon the more 
toilsome and hazardous part of their journey ; and yet the 
eyes, even of the veterans of the expedition, brightened, as they 
descried the curling smoke of the hunter's cabin, and as the 
delight of human intercourse beyond the range of their own 
circle came again within their reach. 

" ' Well, say no more on that point, my boys ; I give in. 
It's rather hard to leave the old woman and the youngsters, 
low as they are, just now, with this cussed fever, but since 
you say the thing is important — and, to tell the truth, I've 
been a good deal of that way of thinking for some time past 
— I'm at your service. But it's no child's errand you are going 
on. Them mountain peaks can't be got over in Idd slippers 
any time, and just now a hard winter is coming on us : the 
ground is already covered with snow, and the rivers and creeks 
are big enough to show pretty strong fight.' 

" ' We do not expect a pleasure trip, good Christopher, and 
whatever we might do alone, certainly in your company we 
shall not turn cowards.' 

" ' Well said, my lads. These are no times for dainty gen- 
tlemen, and I'm glad to see you so ready and hearty to serve 
your country. And, as I was saying just noAV, you are none 



THE ALLEGHANY; OR, THE MAN" OF DUTY. 71 

too soon. These cussed Frenclimen will steal a marcli on us 
if we don't keep a bright eye, and a strong hand too, on 'em. 
I havn't been at the settlement lately, but I've heer'd from 
some of my red-skins, whom I can trust — and you can't trust 
many on 'em — they're mighty slippery ; that that shrewd old 
villain, St. Pierre — though. I must say for him he's dreadful 
civil spoken — is making a powerful wig^vam of that old fort, 
Le Boeuf ; his people is winding themselves down from Canada 
and up from Louisiana; and before we know it, they'll join 
hands from north to south, and dance a jig around his majesty's 
colonies to a tune it will be terrible onpleasant to hear.' 

" ' That is the opinion of the Governor and his Council,' 
said our minister, ' and, since we are by ourselves, I will tell 
you that my errand is to check this progress of the French; 
first, by politely telling your civil friend St. Pierre that his 
room is more desirable than his company, and next, should he 
not accept my invitation to return home, to learn the best way 
of making him do so. To accomplish this, I need your assist- 
ance, not only to reach the Fort at the earliest moment, but to 
inform myself of the strength of the enemy in every way, and, 
above all, to secure the good-will of the Indians.' 

" ' We'll soon get to the old dog's kennel, and see what 
bones he's got to live on; but as to the red-skins, as I told 
you, they can't be trusted; though of the two, I rather think 
they like our people the bcvst ; still they're not such fools that 
they can't see that between both sides they may lose every- 
thing themselves. An old warrior asked me once, if the 
French were to hold all the lands west of the AUeghanies, 
and the English all to the eastward, what then would be left 
for him?' 

" ' A difficult question to answer, certainly,' said our trav 
eller, laughing, 'but we must secure their friendship in the 
best way we can. Where is Tanacharison now?' 



72 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

" ' We shall probably find him near Logstown, which will 
be the best place to assemble the chiefs. But we must be care- 
ful : St. Pierre will hear of lis long before he sees us. His spies 
are about thick as copper-heads, and about as troublesome to 
meet, too.' 

" ' We'll be a match for them,' said our traveller, cheerily, 
' and now, good Christopher, you, not less than the rest of us, 
must lay in some supply of sleep before morning.' 

" After thus dismissing his council of travel, our young 
hero, wakeful in his anxiety and earnestness, stole out of the 
cabin, and for a long while paced thoughtfully up and down 
the half-cleared space in front. In the midst of his medita- 
tions his quick ear caught the sound of a stealthy step, and, 
turning abruptly, he descried the figure of an approaching 
Indian. 

" ' What does my brother want ?' he quietly asked, not, 
however, without grasping his sword in a not very brotherly 
manner. 

" ' Messiker is a friend to the white chief,' said the red-man ; 
'he comes from the great wigwam.' 

" ' And what news does my brother bring ?' 

" ' He comes to tell the brave that his white rose is fading.' 

" ' Ah ! what new trial is this !' said the traveller, in a fal- 
tering voice, his thoughts flying back to the weeping girl he 
had left on the banks of the Eappahannoc. But he seemed 
to grow reassured, when, after closely questioning the messen- 
ger, he was led to doubt the truth of his alarming reports. 

"'Perhaps,' ran his thought, 'the fellow is but an emissary 
of St. Pierre, seeking to defeat or to delay my mission. My 
poor Martha ! Would that I could return to her ! But no, 
that may not be ; duty calls me, and I must, at all sacrifice, 
obey, trusting to heaven to protect her and me ;' and, recover- 
ing his habitual grave composure, the Man of Duty, conquering 



THE ALLEGHANY; OE, THE MAN OF DUTY. 73 

tliis new temptation, dismissed the pretended envoy, and sought 
new strength in the sure panacea of sleep. 

" "When our hero mentioned the visit of Messiker to his 
trusty companion, Gist, as the party pursued their rude way 
through the forest on the following day, old Christopher saw 
nothing to fear in his story beyond the intimation which he 
thought it gave that, even here, their movements were watched 
by their vigilant foes. 

" I need not pause to describe our adventurer's weary days 
of painful travel, his privations and sufferings in the wild 
winter forests, and his continual exposure to the cruelty and 
treachery of the savage red-men, since all these things are 
matters of written history; no less, the successful assembling 
of the Indian chieftains, and the conferences which secured 
their promised friendship. 

"Suffice it to say, that, emboldened and sustained by his 
convictions of duty, our hero gallantly braved and conquered 
every obstacle and danger until his journey was accomplished, 
and he found himself the honoured guest of the redo'ubtable 
Monsieur le Gardeur de St. Pierre, knight of the Order of St. 
Louis, and commandant of his French Majesty's forces on the 
Ohio. 

"The kind hospitality and the refined social pleasures of 
Fort Le Boeuf, were as grateful to our travellers as they were 
unexpected in this remote and wild region. Monsieur de St. 
Pierre and his family had brought with them into the wilder- 
ness all the graces of their native land — graces attractive enough 
in their ordinary influence, but dangerously seductive when ex- 
erted to aid the accomplishment of a much-desired end. 

"But all the pleasures of the commandant's household, his 
own solicitous regard, and the flattering persuasions of the 
ladies, were powerless to detaiu our ambassador an instant from 
the path which his sense of duty marked out. His mission 



74 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

achieved, lie turned a deaf ear to all solicitations to protract 
his stay, and to all the representations of the increased dan- 
gers of a return through the forests. That these representa- 
tions were not unfounded in truth, he was persuaded by the 
unsatisfactory result of his mission, and the evident desire of 
the commandant to delay and obstruct his return. This con- 
viction made him more eager to execute his task. 

" Bidding adieu to his host, in all apparent kindness and 
confidence, he sallied forth again under his banner of duty to 
brave the peril of the woods and the snares of hidden foes. 
From both, as from a thousand dangers in after life, he was 
so marvellously shielded, that the superstitious foresters learned 
to look upon him as under the special protection and love of 
the Great Spirit. 

" It was on this returning voyage that the famous passage 
of the Alleghany, depicted in our sketch, was achieved. To 
facilitate their progress, the party had separated, some taking 
charge of the horses and baggage, and our hero, with his 
staunch guide, Kit, courageously venturing into the forest alone. 
Coming to the waters of the Alleghany at night, their expec- 
tation of crossing readily on the ice was sadly disappointed on 
finding the river frozen but a few feet beyond the shores. In 
the emergency, they set about constructing a raft, on which 
frail craft they trusted themselves and their fortunes, with the 
resolution of all the Coesars, to the angry current. But the 
current, like everything else, was resolved to thwart their pur- 
pose, and, in the effort to stem its strength, they were plunged 
into the rapid floods. With desperate struggles, they at length 
reached a rocky island in the middle of the stream, where, in 
cold and darkness, they patiently awaited the dawn, when they 
were happily enabled to reach the opposite bank, on the ice 
which the severe frost of the night had formed, 

" In the midst of such trials and perils, our hero accom- 



THE ALLEGHANY; OR, THE MAN OF DUTY. 75 

plished his arduous mission across tlie AUeglianies, and gave 
the first proof to the world of that unconquerable strength and 
integrity of character, that self-sacrificing love of right and res- 
pect for duty, which afterwards, in more lofty displays, so often 
and so greatly served the happiness and glory of his country, 
and which has embalmed his name as a blessing in the ever- 
lasting memory of mankind. 

" In conclusion," resumed Mr. Deepredde, " I will, instead 
of stealing your time with the idle story of our hero's happy 
return to Williamsburg, and the honours showered upon him 
by the government and the people " 

" To say nothing," interrupted Mr. Flakewhite, " about the 
loving greeting from certain tearful eyes, which were promis- 
ing enough at the beginning of your story, but have been too 
much overlooked since " 

" All that," continued the chairman, " can be more easily 
imagined than described — at least by my prosaic tongue — so, as 
I was saying, when the 'tearful eyes' put me out, I will simjDly 
add a word of historic moral, in telling you that this memora- 
ble expedition, which I have described to you in such light 
style, united the colonies in that friendly union which soon 
successfully resisted the border encroachments of the French 
power, and years afterwards grew into the strength which re- 
leased them from the oppressive weight of foreign rule. Ban- 
croft — ^hand me that volume of Bancroft, my dear Asphaltum 
— speaking of the border war which immediately followed the 
Alleghany expedition, tells us that the first gun then fired at 
the command of Washington kindled the world into a flame. 
* It was,' he writes, ' the signal for the first great war of Eevolu- 
tion. There in the Western forest began the battle which was 
to banish from the soil and neighbourhood of our Eepublic the 
institutions of the middle age, and to inflict on them fatal 
wounds throughout the continent of Europe. In repelling 



76 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

France from the basin of the OHo, Washington bioke the 
repose of mankind, and waked a struggle which could admit 
of a truce only when the ancient bulwarks of Catholic legiti- 
macy were thrown down.' That's all, gentlemen," added the 
chairman, closing his book and his lips at the same time. 



"Deepredde might have made his story more interesting," 
said Mr. Flake white, "and at the same time might have added 
a higher light to the picture of his hero's stoical virtue in with- 
drawing so doggedly from the social pleasures of Monsieur de 
St. Pierre's family, if he had told us something of the bewitch- 
ing smiles of the old commandant's daughter, the beautiful 
Gabrielle." 

"Grabrielle de St. Pierre," said the astounded chairman. 
" Upon my word, I did not know that the commandant had a 
daughter. I do not recollect ever to have seen her name in 
Bancroft, or Hildreth, or " 

"Perhaps not; but you may read it, by and by, in 'Flake- 
white,' for I am going to put on record the true and touching 
history of the belle of Le Boeuf — 



" We will begin, gentlemen, by drinking to the memory 
of the fair Gabrielle. If she had lived at the present day, 
when books occupy so much of the time of her sex, she might 
have been called a strong-minded woman — living when she did, 
she was simply a clear-headed, brave-hearted girl, intensely 
despising the frivolous life to which the habits and conventions 
of French society condemned her, and fearlessly asserting and 



GABEIELLE DE ST. PIERRE. 77 

maintaining her right to think and act as she herself best 
pleased. 

" Thus it is not to be wondered at that when her indulgent 
papa was ordered to breathe the pure and free airs of the 
"Western forest, her filial affection and her love of liberty 
made her the determined partner of his exile — not to men- 
tion the strong desire to get away from the annoying devotions 
of a certain enamoured cousin, whom she abominated the more 
intensely because her friends were determined to force him 
upon her. However much she might have loved him if left 
to herself-^for he was a very good sort of fellow — she now 
perfectly detested the very sight of him. 

" This change of scene and circumstance happened at the best 
possible moment for a temperament like Mademoiselle Gabrielle's : 
at a moment when she was best prepared to profit by all its 
good influences, and to escape its dangers; not before she had 
seen and learned enough of the graces and refinements of pol- 
ished life, to keep her above the rude habits and manners of 
the uncultured foresters, and just in time to turn the strong 
imaginative and romantic tendency of her nature from an idle 
and corroding sentimentalism, into a deep and pure current 
of healthy poetic feeling. Here, in the solemn ministrations of 
God's first temples — the grand primeval forests — and amidst the 
dangers and privations with which she had to contend, she 
grew up a thoughtful and truthful sjoirit, with earnest and 
daring purpose ; while a longer breathing of the poisoned and 
demoralizing atmosphere of the court of Louis, might have de- 
graded her into a reckless and unscrupulous woman of fashion 
and intrigue. 

" The character of our heroine was thus happily developing 
at the moment our story opens. 

" The gathering shades of night were deepening the spirit 
of quiet which always surrounded the little fortress of Le Boeuf, 



78 THE EOMANCE OE AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

on the wild banks of the far-off Ohio, as the eyes of a small 
party of way-worn and weary wanderers grew bright with hope 
at the first glimpse of its hospitable walls. 

" ' There,' said an old veteran, who aj^peared to be the guide 
of the party, ' is the lion's den. You must have a care of his 
paws, my lads.' 

"'Never fear, good Christopher,' replied the leader of the 
group, a tall, handsome youth, who seemed but little given 
himself to fear, ' the watchful Providence which has brought 
us thus far through all the dangers of the wilderness wall 
protect us to the end.' 

" The faith of the speaker proved, even as the words fell 
from his lips, to be well grounded. An arrow, aimed at him 
by a stealthy hand, not before seen in the dusky recesses of 
the woods, was suddenly and opportunely struck aside, and the 
momentary apparition of a lurking foe was followed by the 
strange appearance of a young and beautiful girl. So unex- 
pectedly did she come, and so quickly disappear, pausing only 
to bestow a reproving look and word upon the treacherous 
savage, that our travellers scarcely knew whether to consider 
her a real visitant, or a pleasing deceit of their fancies, 

'"Another lucky escape, my dear George,' said young Fair- 
fax. ' Truly, heaven seems to love you, sending down its angels 
in propria personoe for your protection. Who can the dear 
fairy be ?' 

" ' Some member of the Governor's household, I suppose,' 
said the leader, ' whom he has suffered to grow wild in this 
untamed land.' 

" ' She has, at least, learned to be generous and daring,' 
continued Fairfax. ' You owe her your life, and if you were 
not already pledged to the fair Ma ' 

" ' Nonsense, Harry ! I thank the girl heartily, but I have 
graver thoughts to occupy my mind than the silly whispers of 



GABEIELLE DE ST. PIERRE. 79 

every passing romance. I leave it to you, better fitted for sucli 
tilings, to seek amusement and pleasure in following up tlie 
adventure.' 

" ' Thank you. If the girl has wit and wisdom equal to 
her bravery and beauty, I shall not, I promise you, be in any 
great haste to recross the rugged Alleghanies. While you are 
discussing the subject of your belligerent mission with the com- 
mandant of Le Boeuf yonder, and persuading him that it will 
be better for his political health to pull up stakes and remove 
with his people far away from the Ohio, and the vicinage of 
our good Governor Dinwiddle, I may find it agreeable to make 
war upon the heart of this mountain sprite.' 

" ' Suppose, Harry,' answered his friend, laughing, ' suppose 
you carry her back with us, as a hostage for the faith of these 
slippery Frenchmen !' 

"With such cheerful chat and jest, the party at length 
passed the sentinels and entered the precincts of the lonely 
fort, where they were cordially greeted by the expectant host, 
Monsieur le Gardeur de St. Pierre. 

" ' I am happy, gentlemen,' said the courteous Frenchman, 
'to eongratulate you upon the safe termination of your fati- 
guing and hazardous journey, and to welcome you to my 
humble quarters, which I trust will long be cheered by the 
pleasures of your society. I hope you bring me good news 
from Virginia, Mr. Washington, and pleasant messages from 
your excellent Governor, my old friend, Dinwiddle; your 
young companion ' 

" ' Mr. Fau'fax,' interrupted our ambassador, as he introduced 
his colleague. 

" ' Must forget the privations of the forest as much as pos- 
sible in such poor pleasures as he may be able to find in 
our rough home. Ah! my old friend Gist, too. I am glad to 
shake your hardy honest hand once more ! But pardon mo I 



80 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LAInTDSCAPE. 

must present yoii to the ladies,' he continued, summoning an 
attendant. 

" ' Tell Madame that our expected guests have arrived, and 
send Mademoiselle Gabrielle to me, if she has returned to the 
Fort. My wild daughter, gentlemen, will give you a cordial 
welcome, for she sees but too little society suited to her station 
and education. It is surprising that you should not already 
have made her acquaintance. Few things happen here of which 
she is not the first informed, and such an unusual event as 
your approach ' 

" ' Has not, I dare say, escaped her vigilant notice,' said 
Washington, as he interrupted the commandant with an account 
of the good service done him by the mysterious fairy of the 
forest. 

"'Ha, ha! my mad Gabrielle, unquestionably! You will 
find her a lawless creature, gentlemen, but still rich in all the 
softest traits of woman's nature — ^buried somewhat, perhaps, but 
not lost under the rough habits of her wild life. It is singxilar 
what an influence the united strength and delicatesse of her 
character have given her over our jealous and intractable Indian 
neio-hbours. She is a greater protection to our settlement here 
than all my garrison, and I conld give you no passport through 
the savage tribes, for leagues around, half so authoritative as 
her simple name. But here she comes.' 

"As Gabrielle entered, with an ease and grace not surpassed 
by what our travellers had already learned of her courage, they 
hastened to express their thanks for her late good offices, which 
her hasty retreat had prevented their making at the time. 

" ' Indeed, gentlemen,' answered the mischievous girl, ' you 
owe me no thanks; but you must be more heedful of your 
path, or your brave Governor in Williamsburg may lose some 
ornaments to his ball-room.' 

"'Nay, Mademoiselle,' said Fairfax, half amused, half angry, 



GABRIELLE DE ST. PIERRE. 81 

* we are perliaps not as daring and dauntless foresters as your 
fair ladyship, but we have been reared, believe me, to better 
ends than simply to figure in a minuet.' 

" ' You are happy,' continued the laughing Gabrielle, ' in 
living in a land and among scenes which develop a stronger 
and truer manhood than we often find in the worn-out life of 
our old civilization ; though my honoured father does not agree 
with me on this point.' 

" ' But do you not. Mademoiselle, sometimes grow weary 
of your isolated life here, and sigh for the gay pleasures of 
your native Paris, which your youth and wit and beauty so 
admirably fit you to enjoy ?' 

" ' Nay, nay, my youth and beauty are much better ex- 
. pended here, where they are ever preserved and renewed by 
healthful occupation and innocent thought. The hills and val- 
leys and waters repay my wit with much more instructive and 
agreeable talk than the silly tattle of the drawing-room. The 
song of the birds is pleasanter to me than the false flatteries 
of heartless admirers, and the fragrance of the pure mountain 
air more grateful than the perfume of lovers' sighs. Besides, 
I have still sufficient companionship in the love of my parents 
and friends; and books and papers teach me all the best thouo-ht 
of the world, and show me its most brilliant spectacles, while 
I am relieved from the fatigue, of walking in the painful pro- 
cession.' 

" More than once, and in various ways, did Gabrielle, as 

the days passed on, give expression to this haughty spirit of 

contempt for the wonted pleasures and passions of her sex ; 

and yet, despite her exalted philosophy, she lingered, with each 

successive hour, longer and longer in the society of lier new 

friends, seldom, indeed, following her old life in the woods, 

except when they accompanied her. 

" Harry Fairfax seemed to have kept his threat to make 
6 



82 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

war upon the redoubtable heart of the mountain maid ; for while 
his companion was indefatigably prosecuting the ends of his 
mission, he was following the deer with her over hill and dale^ 
or strolling by her side along the quiet margin of the great 
river. Whatever may have been the themes of their discourse 
at such moments, Gabrielle was as gay and intractable as ever 
in the hearing and presence of others. 

" So precisely was her manner what it had always been, 
that none could suspect her heart and fancy to be less free 
than before. Harry himself, indeed, seemed uncertain whether 
any change had come over the spirit of her dream; and this 
uncertainty did not, from some cause or other, increase the 
gaiety of his humour, 

" On the contrary, it gave him a most perceptible uneasi- 
ness of feeling, which grew every moment as the time for the 
departure of the expedition drew nigh. The truth is, he had 
given half his heart to the fair mountaineer at their first inter- 
view, and the ingenuous frankness of her manner, which made 
no secret of her delight in his companionship, had soon stolen 
the rest. 

"But Avhether she had given him anything more than 
friendly and sisterly regard in return, was a question he hesi- 
tated to ask even himself There was always so much of 
mad badinage, mischievous satire, laughing irony, and inex- 
plicable contrariety in her words, that he found it utterly im- 
possible to read the real nature of her feelings. Whenever his 
own speech became too plain an index of his heart, she seemed 
innocently unconscious of its drift, or, with wonderful ingenuit}^, 
misinterpreted it, or wickedly turned the talk into some oppo- 
site and most outrageously irrelevant current. At such, to poor 
Harry Fairfax, solemn moments, she would, too, often affect 
a sighing remembrance of the devoted cousin, whose breaking 
heart she had so rashl}^ left in Paris, launching out with ex- 



GABRIELLE DE ST. PIERRE. 83 

travagant eulogiums of his graces and gifts, whicli were always 
precisely the very graces and gifts which of all others she 
admired in a man ; regretting her cruel conduct towards him, 
and wishing that opportunity were still left her to repair her 
errors ; half resolved to leave the woods and return to old 
scenes and loves in France, and then gaily anticipating her 
afflicted cousin's threatened visit to America, and, worst of all, 
kindly proposing to read to Harry some of her old admirer's 
exquisite letters. 

" All this was deplorably heart-rending to our tortured 
traveller, but his last hour approached, and, nerving himself 
to the momentous trial, he determined to bring affairs to a 
crisis and solve all his crushing doubts. 

" Unhappily, the solution left him not only a Aviser, but a 
sadder man, as the closing words of a long and earnest dia- 
logue, in the moonlight which fell upon the ramparts of the 
lonely fort, on the eve of their separation, may show. 

" This dialogue, which on the part of the lady had at first 
been most wickedly and vexingly bantering, grew, at length, 
grave and serious when the final moment of adieu arrived. 

" ' Have I then so bitterly deceived myself, and must our 
parting be forever?' said Fairfax, despairingly. 

" ' That must be as heaven wills. I am not insensible to the 
high compliment you bestow upon me; I do not despise your 
love ; but, even did I return it, I should still mistrust my own 
heart. We have been thrown together under such peculiar cir- 
cumstances—circumstances so admirably suited to bring out all 
the sentiment and romance of our nature — that it would be rash 
to trust our present feelings. Did I love you now, I might 
forget you in other scenes; as you, doubtless, will think no 
more of the rude mountain girl when you fall again under the 
influence of brighter eyes.' 

" ' I can never forget you, Grabrielle ; so entirely does the 



84 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

whole current of my being set towards you, that no power can 
turn it aside !' 

" ' Well, well, go now, and if we should meet again — ^years 
hence — and you should still remember me, return me this 
token,' said Gabrielle, taking from her finger a ring rudely 
sculptured by some untaught genius. It was given to me by 
a young chief, whose life I saved, and it will be useful to you 
in your wanderings among the red-men of this region,, who all 
know and obey Gabrielle de St. Pierre.' 

" ' And this,' said Fairfax, as he kissed the ring and offered 
her another in return. ' This gift from my mother — wear it, 
as a token of ' 

'"Of your pleasant visit,' added Gabrielle in her old gay 
manner, as others came at that instant within hearing. 



" When our travellers were again in their own home, 
the altered manner of Harry Fairfax excited no little curi- 
osity among his young companions to learn more minute 
particulars of the expedition to Le Boeaf than were given in 
the official reports. More especially were they interested in the 
mysterious history of the ugly looking ring which he never 
ceased to wear and to contemplate with most devoted and rapt 
vision. 

"Washington, when appealed to on the subject, laughingly 
ascribed the change of his friend's humour to ill health — the 
results of a violent cold caught in the adventurous passage of 
the mighty floods of the Alleghany; and the ring, he gravely 
hinted, concerned certain secret results of their diplomacy which 
the interests of the colony imperiously required should not for 
the present be divulged. Even the gentle Martha— so touch- 
ingly presented to us in Mr. Deepredde's romantic drama of 



GABRIELLE DE ST. PIERRE. 85 

the ' Man of Duty ' — failed to win from the wily diplomat any 
more explicit confidence. 

" Altogether, there was no surprise whatever felt at the 
extraordinary interest which Fairfax took in the military ex- 
peditions which the late mission set on foot — expeditions to 
effect by force of arms that expulsion of the encroaching French 
from the banks of the Ohio which Washington had failed to 
accomplish by negotiation. 

" At length, in one of these sorties — which particular one, 
and its exact history, our worthy chairman will tell you — our 
hero held a command, to which he did high honour by his 
bravery and forbearance through the hot struggles of a change- 
ful day. 

"Night was coming on apace, and the fortunes of the fight 
were against the colonists ; yet Harry Fairfax still battled man- 
fully at the head of his gallant troops. 

" It might have been the excitement of the hour and the 
passion of the soldier, or the depth of his patriotism, which 
nerved his arm and strung his heart ; yet the close observer 
— had there been such an one — 'WOuld perhaps have suspected 
some other impulse to move him, on seeing his daring always 
exalted whenever his eye rested upon a young officer in the 
opposite ranks, whose sole business, as he kept aloof from the 
general conflict, seemed, singularly enough, to be, not to conquer, 
but to protect, his foe ; for more than once had he, by the 
exertion of some secret power, stayed the arm and weapon 
raised against him. Possibly he was mortified at this gratuitous 
service on the part of the stranger 

" By and by the growing darkness put a stop to the con- 
test, and hid his mysterious protector from our hero's sight. 
As he was about to retire from the bloody field he turned 
back for an instant at the sound of a thrilling cry for quarter, 
and angrily stayed the brutal passions of his men "vVho were 



86 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

about to finisli tlie unliappy captive. His surprise was great 
when, bending over the prostrate soldier, he recognized the 
person of his unknown protector. But yet greater was his 
astonishment, and new and deep his emotions, when a nearer 
glance showed him the ring of love with which he had parted 
from Gabrielle de St. Pierre. 

" ' Alas ! my fancy told me so !' he said abstractedly. ' So 
like herself! Yes, it must be he! that — that — too happy cousin! 
And he has come at last, and, as I feared, stolen away the 
love of Gabrielle! What right has he to be generous to me? 
He's my foe — my mortal, deadly foe — let him die !' continued 
the wretched lover, as he madly grasped his sword. 

" ' No, no ! He shall live ! I will not be such a wretch ! 
He shall live, for her sake ;' and he ordered the wounded man 
to be carefully borne to his tent. No particular care, however, 
was needed, since scarcely were they arrived at Fairfax's quar- 
ters before the youth recovered his scattered senses, and proved 
to be unhurt, beyond the swoon which had followed a slight 
contusion received in falling from his horse. 

"When fully aware of the position of things around him, 
the captive seemed no longer interested in our hero. His 
thoughts took another direction, and other objects. 

'"My father — my father ! let me seek him !' he cried. 

" ' Of whom do you speak ?' asked Fairfax. 

" ' Of my poor father. Monsieur de St. Pierre.' 

" ' Monsieur de St. Pierre !' echoed our hero. ' St. Pierre — 
your father?' 

" < Yes— no, not my father — my— let me go ! Ah ! heaven 
grant that his life be safe !' 

" ' Yes, yes,' muttered Fairfax, ' I comprehend it all now : 
his father — the father of Gabrielle !' 

"Without another word, Harry and his prisoner returned 
to the now deserted field, and, by the faint light of the newly- 



GABRIELLE DE ST. PIERRE. 87 

risen moon, sought in silence for tlie body of the old com- 
mandant. Their pious labour was not long unrewarded. They 
found the object of their search, still living, but too plainly, 
alas ! mortally wounded. 

" ' my father !' sobbed the prisoner, as he cast his arms 
wildly about the neck of the old soldier. 

" ' Thank God,' gasped the dying man, ' that you are safe. 
Gabrielle — my child !' 

" ' Gabrielle !' exclaimed the bewildered Fairfax. ' Are you 
indeed Gabrielle ?' And even in the midst of this solemn scene, 
he was not too unselfish to look with more pleasure than before 
upon his mother's ring on the finger of his captive. 

"'Who, who is with you, my child? My sight is dim, and 
I cannot see him ; but his voice — it is familiar to me ! Who 
is he?' 

" ' It is he, fother !' 

" ' He ?' 

" ' Yes, he — Harry — Harry Fairfax, father !' 

" ' Ha ! Fairfax ! Does he love my poor daughter ?' 

" Harry took the hand of Gabrielle, and they knelt together 
at the old man's feet. 

" ' Heaven bless you, my children ! I have forgiven you, 
Harry, for wishing to take away my home, but never for rob- 
bing me of my daughter's heart and happiness. You took both 
with you when you left Le Boeuf. It has been but a sad 
place ever since. She has always loved you, and to-day has 
risked her life, in the maddest way, and despite my commands, 
to protect you.' 

" ' And you, too, father.' 

" ' Yes, yes ! You have always been, in all your wilfulness 
and folly, a dutiful and loving daughter, and you will be — a 
good — and truthful — wife !' 



88 THE ROMANCE OF AMEEICAN LANDSCAPE. 

"When the old soldier slept quietly in his grave, Fairfax 
conducted his gentle prisoner to his own home, where he placed 
her under the affectionate surveillance of the tender Martha, 
beloved, as Mr. Dcepredde has intimated to us, by his dear 
friend and travelling companion, Washington. In process of 
time he accompanied her on a visit to her childhood's home, 
where they passed a happy month under the roof of that 
mischief-making cousin several times referred to in my narra- 
tive, and at this period a joyous father of an interesting family. 
The gay pleasures of the French capital did not, however, 
obliterate the loving remembrance of their forest-home in the 
New World, to which they soon returned, and where they lived 
in peace and prosperity, as all virtuous heroes and heroines 
of romance ought to do. 

"When the Ee volution broke out, years afterwards, Gabri- 
elle, then a g^ave matron, offered her sons as a willing sacrifice 
npon the altars of that Freedom she never ceased to love." 



"Have you got entirely through, now?" asked Mr. Ver- 
meille, as Flakewhite relighted his cigar. 

"Of course I have. Is not my heroine happily married 
and settled with a whole nursery of babies at her heels ! What 
more can you want?" 

"Nothing, only I have a mind, now that Blueblack has 
given us a peep at the romance of the colonial life of Virginia, 
and you a very charming imagining of her wars with, the 
French and Indians— I have a mind, I say, to treat the com.- 
pany to a little glimpse of a later period, by telling them 
something of the history of Gabrielle de St. Pierre, as one of 
the ' Mothers of the Eevolution.' " 

So deeply had our guests grown interested in the character 
and fortunes of the fair lady of Le Boeuf, that a general accla- 



GABRIELLE DE ST. PIERRE. 89 

mation of assent followed this proposition ; wlien Mr. Deepredde 
reminded them that the hour had grown so late, that the story 
could not be pursued longer at that time. 

It can be resumed, we added, at our next meeting. To be 
sure, our field of study will then be transferred to a point yet 
further southward; but, as Virginia is a kindred theme, we may 
tarry there long enough to pay our brief respects to Mademoi- 
selle Grabrielle. 

Satisfied with this compromise of the matter, the company 
dispersed. 



CHAPTER Y. 

" AsPHALTUM, my dear boy, you must excuse my fear that 
your undue love of the past and the venerable warps your 
impressions and estimate of the new and the present. Your 
sight is dimmed by the accumulated fogs of the dark old 
centuries into which you are everlastingly peering, I cannot 
but think that you look falsely, when you look despondingly, 
upon the condition and prospects of American art." 

" If I see around me," answered Mr. Asphaltum, " nothing 
but hopeless chaos after contemplating the glories of past tri- 
umphs, it is only as one's sight may be obscured when turning 
from the dazzling light of the sun ; but have we not already 
said enough on this point, considering that it is not quite ger- 
main to the matter in hand?" 

" There you are again strangely in error. What can be 
more relevant to our theme — the history, the poetry, the man- 
ners, and the scenery of our country — than the prospects of 
that art which, of all others, must record, illustrate, and per- 
petuate them? Still, important as is its relation to the purpose 
of these reunions, yet, I grant you, it is not the precise subject 
itself, and I will but remind you before we pass on to the usual 



92 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

gossip of travel and fancy, tliat common as it is to liear tlie 
most hopeless lamentations upon the lack of popular taste and 
popular encouragement of Art, very brief reflection will show 
us that if due, nay, if an extraordinary degree of appreciation 
of the Beautifud has not been already developed — though per- 
chance unperceived at present in the overwhelming brilliancy 
of our country's progress in other ways — still we may be sure 
that the germ lies in the heart and in the head of the people, 
and will shoot up ere long with a rapidity and strength the very 
contrast of its past inertness. "We have not to look to the 
olden patronage of the religious sentiment, or to the pomp of 
arbitrary rule and of plethoric wealth, but we trust to a surer 
and nobler suj)port promised us in the morale of our people 
and in the nature of our social and political institutions : a 
blessed economy which scatters knowledge over the land as 
the tempests spread the dust, inducing a universal intelligence 
and taste which will give us a whole nation of sincere and lov- 
ing patrons, in lieu of the often cold and selfish support of the 
few crowned heads, the limited aristocracy, the collectors, and 
the public institutions, which alone nurse the arts in other 
lands. Our governments, perhaps blameably neglectful of Art, 
so far as direct support goes, are yet unconsciously doing it the 
best service in the encouragement of popular education. This 
is the only soil in which it can thrive and maintain its proper 
dignity. The improving popular taste will elevate Art, and, in 
reciprocation, will be by Art refined and exalted. "With these 
two powers, already so strong, and each continually adding to 
the other, what of distinction and glory in Art achievement and 
in Art worship, does not the future promise us! We, the art- 
ists of America must work as every thing here works — for the 
people — and, believe me, the intelligence and taste of the peo- 
ple will reward us. Of what avail had been the patronage of 
Pericles without the Athenians' innate and cultivated perception 



THE MOTHEES OF THE EEVOLUTION-. 93 

of tlie Beautiful? How widely different the result under dif- 
ferent influences: how great the contrast between Athens and 
Sparta: the latter placed under the same sky as the former 
having the same language and religion, the same mythic tradi- 
tions, but, wanting her intellectual culture, utterly indifferent 
and neglectful of Art." 

As Mr. Deepredde— for it is the worthy chairman, most 
martyred reader, who has been preaching so long— paused for 
breath and brandy — and water, we mean— vre called the at- 
tention of our guests to some of the trophies of our own 
professional rambles— mementoes of the beautiful Falls of the 
Tallulah in Georgia. 

"Before we start, however," said Mr. Megilp, "as our host 
desires, on a pilgrimage to the old Pine State, we must, accord- 
ing to agreement at our last meeting, hear the continuation of 
the history of Gabrielle de St. Pierre, in Mr. Yermeille's prom- 
ised story of 



€\}t 9;at[]m of tlje '"^eWtttioit. 

" The skies Avere dark above them," said Mr. Yermeille at 
once beginning his narrative ;." storms were gathering in every 
direction, and the gallant hearts of the people of Virginia, like 
those of their brethren all over the land, were dying within 
them. 

"It was that dark hour which precedes the dawn — the 
agony going before relief; but the gloom and the pain only 
were seen and felt, not the hope of light and life. 

"In a small shed, the miserable wreck of a once elegant 
mansion, which had been ruthlessly burned by the cruel min- 
ions of King George, sat a VAoman of distinction evidently. 



94 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

from her mien and air, despite tlie marlcs of sorrow on her 
face, and of poverty around her. By her side was a young 
girl whose lovely featm-es suggested the charms which must 
once have belonged to the elder lady, so many traces of a 
similar beauty did her countenance yet bear. 

" 'Ah, Gabrielle!' said the matron, as her young companion 
looked up, after a long and thoughtful reverie; 'you are, per- 
haps, all that is now left to me of my many beloved treasures. 
Do not look so sad, my daughter : misfortunes, it is true, over- 
whelm us now, but, by and by, God will send the sunshine 
again. I have been afflicted before, without hope in the world, 
and yet the bright days have come back. Bless you, my 
child ! I love to see you smile upon me thus. It recalls so 
vividly all the active scenes of my own wikl, thoughtless girl- 
hood, when I hunted the deer among the Indians in the forests 
of the Ohio : when I first met your father — don't look sorrowful 
again, Gabrielle, he died in a worthy cause — ^and learned that 
there were other and dearer objects and hopes in life, than the 
indulgence of my own thoughtless pleasures.' 

'"You have often promised me, mother, to tell me of those 
days : do so now. The story will cheer you, and help to beguile 
these dreadful moments of uncertainty and fear.' 

" ' Not now, Gabrielle. Let us rather speak of this young 
Derwent, who seeks your hand and offers you fortune. He is 
not quite indifferent to you?' 

" ' Once, mother, he was not. But he has betrayed his 
country, and I love him no longer! And yet, mother, if this 
poverty is so painful to you ' 

" ' God forbid, my chikl !' 

" ' Or, if it may serve the happiness of my poor brothers ' 



'"No more, my own true Gabrielle! You speak bravely, 
as I knew you would. Let us be poor and despised, if heaven 
se]ids the trial, while our honour and conscience remain unsul- 



THE MOTHERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 95 

lied. But hark ! is not tliat tlie tramp of horses ? Surely 
tliej will not drive us from this poor shelter; thej cannot— 
take from me— my child!' and, as the ominous sound of the 
approach of armed men grew louder, mother and daughter clung 
more closely to each other. 

"As they made no answer to the loud knocking which 
almost immediately followed, some heavy blows were angrily 
bestowed upon the frail door, which soon shook it from its 
hinges. 

" ' Pardon this seeming lack of ceremony, madam,' said the 
leader of the intruders, ' but I am impatient to have the answer 
of your fair daughter. She will, I presume, be but too glad 
to exchange this vile hovel for a lordly mansion; and then 
like a dutiful child she loves her mother and brothers, I am 
told!' 

" 'At least she loves -not you, bold, bad man! Begone, sir! 
how dare you thus insult me ? Begone, I say !' 

'"Beware, proud lady, that you do not anger me too much!' 
'"I do not fear you, sir! I fear only God, in whom I 
trust for protection !' 

'"Then let Him protect you, for by Himself I swear the 
girl shall be mine!' and, as he spoke, he rudely seized the 
arm of the defenceless maid. 

" Starting to her feet, as if poisoned by his touch, she darted 
upon him a look of such haughty indignation, such sublime 
defiance, that even his boundless impudence was for a moment 
cowed and appalled, 

" ' Stand back, traitor ! I, Gabrielle Fairfax, love a craven 
like you? I love squalid penury, pain, death — a thousand 
deaths ; but you — you I loathe !' 

" ' Ha, ha !' laughed the villain in his bitter mortification, 
and regaining his wonted audacity. ' That is all very fine, fair 
lady, but it won't do for me. Here, my men ! help me to 



96 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

take care of this poor girl, who does not know when she is 
well off!' 

" Scorning the prayers of the mother, and deriding the 
anger of the daughter, they were forcibly dragging away their 
victim, when a stranger, bursting into the room, dealt the cow- 
ardly leader a blow which sent him staggering against the wall. 

"'Brother, brother I' cried Gabrielle joyfully, as she flew to 
the arms of her rescuer. 

" ' God be praised that you are safe, my son !' said the 
widow. ' But you have escaped one danger only to confront 
a greater. You come in vain, alas ! come only to draw upon 
us all the remorseless vengeance of yonder daring wretch.' 

'"You speak sensibly at last, madam,' said Derwent, recov- 
ering from the stunning effects of young Fairfax's unexpected 
greeting. ' You shall, indeed, pay for this ! Leave the girl, 
now, my lads, and bring along that -insolent cub : bring him 
to the first tree !' 

Vr "Jt TT w 7v TT w 

" ' There is no hope, my child ! no hope but in God ! His 
will be done ! I cannot choose between you. Your brother 
would never permit the sacrifice ! You would both die broken- 
hearted I' 

" ' No, mother, I shall be happy — happy in saving his life 
— happy in your happiness !' 

" ' It cannot be ! Think of it no more, Gabrielle ! Never 
again breathe his infamous name !' 

" ' But my brother ? — he must be saved, at any cost !' 

"'I will seek General Washington!' cried the widow, as her 
eyes brightened with new hope — ' your father's friend and com- 
panion. For the sake of old loves and old scenes, he will 
save us in our extremity ;' and, at the instant, she prepared a 
message, which she soon after found an opportunity of despatch- 
ing to the neighbouring quarters of the commander-in-chief. 



THE MOTHERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 97 

"Scarcely, however, was the note sent, when the sufferers 
were again frightened by the reappearance of the hated mis- 
creant, Derwent. 

'"The rebels % !' said he in haste. 'They are losing 
Yorktown, and with Yorktown they lose all. Yonr son there 
is slain, and the other is my prisoner! You would not be 
childless, woman ? Give me the girl, and take back your boy ! 
Quick, quick, your answer ! Let her sign this contract !' 

" ' Grive me the paper,' said Gabrielle in a steady voice ; and 
in a moment she had calmly signed away her freedom and her 
life. 

'"ISTow, then, to the church!' he cried triumphantly, half 
dragging with him the passive girl as he moved away. ' There 
is no use putting off until to-morrow what may be done to-day, 
and you may not always be as wise as you are at this moment. 
Come, come, don't look so much as if you were going to the 
guillotine: this, remember, is your own free act!' 

"As the group approached the neighbouring church they 
were surprised at the unusual crowd gathered about the old 
edifice, and still more so at the boisterous and happy humour 
which prevailed among them. To the hearts of the widow 
and her daughter the rejoicing brought new fears, while it 
seemed to exhilarate their oppressor.. 

" ' The people are assembled to do honour to our bridal 
fair Gabrielle,' said he. 'Meet them, if you please, with a 
smiling face !' 

"But the feelings of all suddenly changed when, as they 
drew near, the voice of the multitude resolved itself into glad 
shouts of 'Long live Washington ! long live the Union!' 

'"What does this insolence mean?' said Derwent, half in 
anger, half in apprehension. ' Surely the rebels dare not thus 
openly ' 

'"Eebel and traitor yourself !' cried one voice after another 
7 



98 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE, 

as he entered among tlie crowd. ' Know you not that the vic- 
tory is ours ?— that Cornwalhs is taken, and the country is free ?' 

" The joy of Gabrielle and her mother now became almost 
oppressive in its intensity as they were joined by young Fairfax, 
whom we left in the vengeful power of the recreant Derwent. 

'"You, too, come back to me, my son, safe and free! Truly, 
heaven answers my prayers !' 

" ' Yes, mother, you may well rejoice ! "We are all free 
again, and forever ! My brother, too, is safe, and will soon be 
with us. And yet, had that scoundrel there,' he added, as his 
eyes rested upon the trembling Derwent, ' succeeded in his 
traitorous schemes, our cause would have been lost ! But how 
is it that you have come to share the joy of the people, since 
you seem not until this moment to have heard the news?' 

"Gabrielle, pointing from Derwent to the church, said with 
a smile of hope, 'We were going there, brother, to save your 
life !' 

" ' Where we will still go, sweet Gabrielle ! I have your 
pledge, and I shall not release you so easily,' added Derwent, 
making new efforts to push his way through the people. 

" ' Not so fast !' interrupted a new comer, who had a few 
moments before joined the group. ' I have other bands for 
you, sir, than the pleasant bands of wedlock ! You are my 
prisoner, Mr. Derwent !' 

" At the sound of the familiar voice which here reached 
her ears, the widow quickly turned and welcomed her eldest 
son, whom she had mourned as lost in the late struggle. 

" Handing his prisoner over to proper surveillance, Captain 
Fairfax— for the lad had come back with this new honour^ — 
returned with his now happy family to the glad walls of the 
old shed; which they soon exchanged for a more comfortable 
abode, when their patrimony, of which Derwent's machinations 
had deprived them, was restored." 



MARGARET HOUSE. 99 

"All's well that ends well!" said Professor Scumble, approv- 
ingly, as Mr. Yermeille finished his little tale and relighted 
his cigar. 

" But it is not ended," added Mr. Deepredde, " for I have 
yet to continue the history, in a peep at the present period of 
Virginia life — these weak, piping, planting times of peace and 
plenty, as you might perhaps express it. I shall make no 
apology for my sketch, since it will be as characteristic of the 
region we are to visit to-night, and of all the old South, as of 
Virginia." 

" Good gracious ! is madam to come to life again ?" inquired 
the Professor. 

"Not a great deal; but if yoa will all close your eyes, 
clairvoyantly, I will transport you to a comfortable mansion in 
the heart of rich fields — once the impenetrable forests of the 
Old Dominion. There you will see Copley's picture of the 
beautiful Gabrielle de St. Pierre, chief among the old family 
portraits of 



urgarrf f)mBt. 

"It is Christmas night, and though the winter is kindly, a 
genial fire sparkles on the generous hearth, bright as the smiles 
of pleasure in the eyes of the numerous party, young and old, 
gathered around it. 

" Everything within the hospitable mansion reiterates the 
goodly promise of its old-fashioned comfortable exterior, speak- 
ing with equal eloquence of young hope and placid age. 

"A fine remnant of the old regime, is the venerable yet 
jolly gentleman so contentedly sipping his egg-nog as he talks 
to a fellow ancient, and watches the mazy movements of the 
young folk, as they whirl round in the merry dance. 



100 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

" ' Very different times, my old friend,' lie says, ' to tlie 
trying days of our grandmothers, there on the walls ! What 
would Harry Fairfax and his blooming Grabrielle say, could 
they now revisit the busy banks of the OhiOj and, stepping into 
a rail-car, in a few hours dash through the fertile fields where 
once grew the old forests of the AHeghanies? Would not 
such a glimpse of the present happiness and glory of their 
country, richly repay the blood and life they so freely lavished 
in its defence?' 

"Now the reverend seigneurs — turning from the past to the 
present — have got upon other themes, and are earnestly dis- 
cussing the crying need of a railway to the Pacific and the 
influence of the United States upon the current of the dawning 
war in Europe. 

" Eine, manly looking fellows, those, leaning over the an- 
tique sideboard, and so heartily discussing the pleasures of 
the chase, as they review the adventures and successes of the 
past hajDpy day. 

" ' What would our respected sires saj^,' asks one of the 
joyous group, ' could they step from their dusty frames and 
join us in such free and unmolested sport as we have had to- 
day? Gabrielle, yonder, would regain her fabled youth and 
beauty and fall in love again with the gallant Harry ! Here's 
to the memory of both, boys, not in exports of Champaigne, 
but in sparkling Catawba from the sunny and peaceful vine- 
yards of their own Ohio !' 

" Promising lads, those, grouped yonder in the deep recesses 
of the old oriel window, and glad on their temporary escape 
from the college — not from far-off Cambridge or Oxford, but 
from their own classic halls in Charlottesville. 

" ' No such field now-a-days, boys,' says one of the most 
aspiring of the number, ' for gallant deeds, as in the stirring 
times of our worthy ancestors there ! I should like to be a 



MARGARET HOUSE. 101 

brave soldier, like old grand-daddy Fairfax, and win tlie love 
of a daring girl like Gabrielle !' 

" ' I,' replies a more thougktful, yet less imaginative youth, 
' am going to Congress to maintain and exalt the freedom and 
fame they so nobly bequeathed to us!' 

" What are the matrons talking about so mysteriously, a« 
they sip their tea, and ply their knitting needles? 

" ' I am afraid,' says an elderly dame, ' that in the midst 
of the pleasures and luxuries and indulgences which surround 
them, our children will forget the virtues and high characters 
of their fathers and grow degenerate and useless.' 

" ' Not if we properly teach them the story of Gabrielle and 
the sufferings with which she so heroically contributed to the 
purchase of their happy lot, and the duty it imposes upon them 
to respect and perpetuate her memory and fame.' 

" Here, too, are the bright eyes of the maidens bent in pride 
and pleasure upon the honest faces of their pictured pro- 
genitors. 

" ' Gabrielle in her dangerous forest life and the wild battle- 
field,' says one, seeking a moment's rest, 'could not dance as 
gaily and unconcernedly as we do now.' 

" ' Or forget the troubles and trials with which her life 
was beset,' adds another, marking the page of the dainty vol- 
ume she closes, ' in the pleasures of the world of charming books 
which teach us so pleasantly what she learned by harsh ex- 
perience.' 

" ' Or love with such confident hope of realizing her dreams 
as we can,' whispers a youth in the ear of the fair student, as 
he approaches to learn what on earth the girls are so busily 
talking about. 

" ' Every body,' says old Ccesar, turning to a happy grouj) 
of fellow servants, ' is looking at de portraits of old Massa 
Fairfax and Miss Gabrielle, and they seems to feel mighty 



102 ■ THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

proud of 'em!' and the virtue and heroism of Csesar and his 
ebony mates grow greatly, even in the reflected beauty of 
the high and pure emotions which fill the souls of the good 
people of Margaret House, as they gaze upon the voiceful fea- 
tures of their ancestors, and recall the fragrant memory of their 
noble lives." 



" The chairman," said Mr. Yermeille, " has drawn a very 
graceful moral from the checkered history of Mademoiselle 
Gabrielle ; and now, if the poor lady may be permitted to rest 
quietly in her grave, perhaps we had better be off for Georgia, 
and take a peep at our host's pictures of Toccoa and Tallulah. 
He knows as much as any of us about that region, and I hope 
he will favour us with a few remarks initiatory of the subject," 

In reply to this demand we made a hasty reference to the 
several characteristics of the scenery of the South ; jumping 
as rapidly as possible, from the elfish beauties of the mystic 
swamps, the wild intricacies of the dense cane-breaks and the 
luxuriant rice-fields, onward to the higher lands of the golden 
maize and the snowy cotton ; and, finally, bringing up amidst 
the picturesque grandeur and beauty of the varied mountain 
region. Our words were of the briefest — said with no end but 
to awaken the memories of our guests, whose thoughts we were 
more desirous of hearing than to record our own. 

" My own preference," said Mr. Asphaltum, as we left the 
subject on the lips of the company, " is for the dreary humour 
of the sleeping lowlands; not so much for the contrast it offers 
to the general character of our scenery, as for its own intrinsic 
charms. There is to me a marvellous attraction in the beauty 
of the broad savannas, seemingly interminable in the hazy at- 
mosphere which wraps them in such peaceful and poetic repose ; 
and which, with the luxuriant vegetation and the wealth of 



SOUTHERN SCENERY. 103 

forest flowers, soothe tlie feeling and fancy, but yet keep tliem 
delightfully wakeful and active." 

" My favourite haunts," said Mr. Blueblack, " are the dark 
and poisonous lagunes which lead into the mysterious heart 
of the ghostly swamps. Creeping in my canoe through these 
dismal passages — their black waters filled with venomous snakes 
and lurking alligators, and shut out from the light of day by 
the intervening branches of the cypress, the dark foliage of 
the magnolia, and the inextricable veils of rampant vine, with 
the gray trailing moss pendant everywhere in mournful fes- 
toons — my fancy has run riot through a thousand wild and 
dreary imaginings which it would harrow up your soul to 
hear!" 

"Pray don't mention them," said Mr. Brownoker; "such 
dismal scenes may suit your sombre temper; but for my part, 
except to follow the deer, and to hunt the wild fowl, which I 
am told abound in these horrible jungles, I should, when once 
I had exhausted the novelty of the thing, make my way out, 
and think pleasanter thoughts, with Asphaltum, under a jasmine 
bower, or in the quiet shadow of the great live-oaks. Still 
better, should I prefer the fresher airs and the more healthful 
beauties of the uplands." 

"And better again," interrupted Mr. Deepredde, "the glo- 
ries of the wild mountain regions; to which, by the way, I 
think that it is high time we turn our thoughts." 

"Despite the many pictures, with both pen and pencil 
which our host has from time to time given us of our South- 
ern Landscape,"* said Mr. Yermeille, "its beauties are yet 
very inadequately known. How few, while traversing the hio-h 
roads through the monotonous pine woods of North Carolina 
think of the grand Apalachian peaks, and the world of kindred 

* In this mention of our own humble labours, Mr. Vermeille very kindly 
employed various flattering adjectives, which we are com2)elled to omit. 



104 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN" LANDSCAPE. 

charms which delight all the western part of the State ; the 
soaring crown of Black Mountain, rising higher above the val- 
leys around, than even the famous snow-clad summit of Mount 
Washington ; and the wild passage of the French Broad through 
forty miles of rugged gorge, to the peaceful and fertile valley 
of the Tennessee !" 

" Then again," said Mr. Flakewhite, " there lie, hard by, 
the hill-beauties of the Palmetto State : Bang's Mountain, famed 
in Eevolutionary record; the grand palisaded flanks of Table 
Mountain ; the bold crest of Ceesar's Head ; and the many lovely 
little valleys and waterfalls which surround them — the Saluda, 
and Jocassee, Slicking, and White Water." 

"Bringing us at last, and by easy stages," said Mr. Megilp, 
" to the third and most attractive division of the mountain 
scenery of the south-eastern States — the northern part of Geor- 
gia. All this northern part, by the way, abounds in noble 
hill and valley views — from the grand summit of Look-out 
Mountain, overlooking the magnificent plains of the Tennessee, 
to the thick cluster of delicious scenes in the north-eastern 
counties, of which Toccoa and Tallulah are the centre and 
chief — the one a dainty, l,aughing, little brooklet, making one 
merry, bounding leap over a precipice of nearly two hundred 
feet; and the other a foaming torrent, urging its mad way 
through a deep and jagged mountain chasm," 

" The late Judge Charlton, one of the South's sweetest 
poets," added Mr. Flakewhite, "said of this gentle cascade of 
Toccoa, that it reminded him, more than any scene he had ever 
beheld, of the poetic descriptions of fairy land; and he has 
recorded this fancy of his in a graceful poem, a passage from 
which — if our host has a copy of his "Georgia Illustrated" — I 
will not hesitate to read to you. 

" It runs thus," continued Mr. Flakewhite, opening the vol- 
ume, which we pulled down from its dusty nook : — 



SOUTH-EAST. 105 

"'Beautiful brook I — when the moonlight's gleam 
Glistens upon thy falling stream, 
And the varied tints of thy rainbow vie 
With the brightest hues of the evening sky — 
The woodland elf, and the merry fay, 
Chant on thy banks their roundelay; 
And with fairy sword, and tiny spear. 
Fight o'er their bloodless battles here. 
The dro-wsy bird, from its leafy nook. 
Peers on the whole with an anxious look; 
And the cricket uplifteth its cheerful voice. 
And the bats at the merry sound rejoice; 
And the fairy troop, on their sylvan green. 
Frolic and dance in the moonlight's sheen.' " 

"But few scenes in the South," said another speaker, "have 
been so beloved by the poets as this prattling little brooklet. 
A few of many lines sung in its praise by a native bard,* 
come to my memory at this moment. 

" ' ToccoA I OR, THE Beautiful I this name 
To thee was given by the tawny Indian girls. 
When, with the summer's sultry noon, they came 
To bathe their bosoms, where thy water curls 
Around the mossy rocks in countless pearls; 
Or, when in autumn, seeking o'er the hill 
From which thy eddying current lightly whirls, 
Brown nuts, their baskets of light reed to fill, 
Tliey loved to pause, and gaze upon thy beauties still.' " 

"As 'capping verses' seems to be the play of the moment," 
said Mr, Vermeille, "perhaps you will allow me to repeat a 
sonnet to our brook from another pen.f 

" ' In the brown shadows of a mountain wood 
There flows a crystal stream scarce kjiown to song, 

* Hon. Henry R. Jackson. f "William C. Richards, Esq. 



106 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAJST LANDSCAPE. 

Tliat to its own sweet music glides along, 

Charming the else unbroken solitude ! 

"lis called Toccoa in the Indian tongue, 

And never yet was name more fitly given : 

The Beautiful I beneath the smiling heaven 

No lovelier stream the poet ever sung; 

Tlie forest boughs above it interweave, 

And through their leafy fret-work sunbeams stray. 

And on the dancing ripples tremulous play, 

As golden threads the glancing shuttles leave ; — 

Thus bright and musical the streamlet goes, 

And on its marge the scented wild-flower blows.' " 

" Toccoa," said Mr. Deepredcle, " is a scene as exhaustless 
in its morale, as it is simple in its physique. It needs few 
words to describe it intelligibly, while volumes Avould not suf- 
fice to tell all the thought and fancy it creates. Has not some 
one a story or tradition with which to close our recollections 
of the spot?" 

" There is an old legend appertaining thereto," said Mr. 
Brownoker, " but it's a gloomy, tragical sort of affair. How- 
ever, if Blueblack will do it up for us in his Eembrandtish style, 
it may be effective." 

"Come, come, Blueblack!" said several voices, as that gen- 
tleman shrugged his shoulders in dissent, " there's no appeal 
here ! You must touch up 



" Well, I'll start you !" said Brownoker, as Mr. Blueblack 
continued to hem and haw and knit his unwilling brows. " Give 
us your hand and step along ! 

" It was a fearful night — I suppose night vnll be the best 
hour, won't it? — black darkness overspread the land; the mut- 



THE OLD LEGEND OF TOCCOA. 107 

tering tliunders and tlie vengeful lightning shook tlie tremblin<T 
air " 

"But the mad frenzy of the elements," continued Mr. Blue- 
black, taking up the grandiloquent sentence, " was a soft repose 
in comparison with the tempest of angry and revengeful j^assions 
which tore the soul of a lonely old crone gazing from the win- 
dow of her desolate cabin upon the terrible storm without. 

" ' Why does not the wrath of heaven strike their savage 
hearts !' she cried. ' 0, I live but to avenge the cruel murder 
of my sons ! Not one of my darlings have their bloody hands 
spared to me ! My life, once happy as a summer morn, they 
have made, alas ! more wretched than the bitterest winter's night ! 
God, send me my revenge ; but what am I to do with vengeance, 
when I am only too weak to protect myself — protect myself! 
ha ! ha ! Let me be avenged, and I care not how soon Toccoa 
sings its death song over the old woman's lonely grave !' 

" Here the passionate soliloquy of our solitary watcher was 
interrupted by the sudden and stealthy entrance of a large 
ivoop of Indians, who had come, evidently, in search of herself 

"'Yes, yes!' she cried. 'This at least is merciful in you! 
to take the life you have robbed of all its light and hope !' 

" ' Peace !' said the chief, gravely. ' We seek not your poor 
life. If we have slain your people, it is because they have 
stolen our lands and put out our council fires.' 

" ' If you mean me no harm, then why do you seek me ?' 

" ' To guide us by Toccoa to the valley below. We are 
strangers here and know not the path, while you listen to the 
fall of the silvery waters all day long.' 

" ' Conduct you over the falls that you may carry to other 
quiet homes the desolation you have left in mine ! I will not 
lead you !' answered the woman ; but as the arm of the savage 
rose threateningly above her head, another thought seemed to- 
cross her mind, and she continued, ' I will go. Spare me, and 



108 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

promise me your protection and friendship, and I will go with 
yon !' 

" ' I promise, and the red-skin never lies,' replied the chief, 
motioning her to take her place at the head of the file, as he 
moved towards the door. 

" Many a winding bout did the old crone lead the ghostly 
procession, as it slowly struggled, in single file, against the pelt- 
ings of the storm. 

" ' A moment's treachery and you die,' said the savage, 
growing somewhat surprised at the length of the way, 

" ' You will soon be at the bottom of the falls !' replied the 
guide, quietly ; and the next instant she stood upon the ex- 
tremest verge of the precipice. 

" In the obscurity of the hour and the roar of the tempest, no 
eye or ear but her own could see or feel the dropping waters. 

" Stepping aside at this critical moment, cautiously and 
unseen, her trusting followers moved on, each after the other, 
down the deep and fatal abyss, from which no wail of despair 
or death rose above the fury of the storm. One by one, they 
thus marched to their fearful graves, until not a soul of all the 
devoted procession lived to tell the gloomy tale. 

" As her last foe perished, the wretched woman uttered a 
shout of hellish triumph. 'Not yet, not yet, v/ill I leave the 
fiends !' she cried ; ' I'll follow them to their living graves !' 
and with one mad leap she sunk with her victims into the 
dark basin of Toccoa." 



" A gloomy story for so smiling a scene," said Flakewhite ; 
"but, alas! how many gay faces are masks to bitter thoughts." 

" A dead march is not exactly the music to go home by," 
said Mr. Brownoker, as he looked for his hat. " I hope Blue- 
black will hereafter give us his sentiments at the beginning, 
rather than at the end of the evening." 



CHAPTER YI. 

"Where are we going?" said the amiable chairman, re- 
peating Mr. Brownoker's inquiry touching the route of the 
night. Brownoker was always curious on this point, as though 
it made the least difference in the world to him, happy in all 
places and circumstances, whither he went. " Where are we 
going, my dear fellow? Not very far from our last night's 
camp at Toccoa; only a pleasant walk, if you will, of half a 
dozen miles thence to the famous cascades of Tallulah, the 
Terni of Georgia." 

" ' Charming the eye with dread — a matchless cataract !' " mur- 
mured the Professor, turning Childe Harold over in his thouo-hts. 

" Truly, ' a matchless cataract,' " added Mr. Vermeille, " hard- 
ly surpassed by any parallel scene in the world. Unlike the 
beautiful Toccoa, descending sweetly and gently upon us, as 
the soft whispers of angels, the mad waters of Tallulah — or 
Terrora the Terrible, as the stream is sometimes called — howl 
and hiss and boil in endless torture, affrighting the ear like 
the wails of tortured spirits down, in their deep and dark im- 
]irisonment." 

" Mr, Yermeille," resumed the chairman, smiling at his 



110 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

friend's desperate metapliors, "means to tell us, simply, that 
while tlie waters of Toccoa drop down upon us noiselessly, in a 
single waving line, leaving no impression upon the mind deeper 
than a pleasing sense of the beautiful, Tallulah, on the contrary, 
exhibits all the sterner elements of the grand and the sublime, 
in the greater volume and rapidity of its floods, in their passage, 
not trippingly over an embowered wall, but wildly through 
the ruo-D-ed bed of a deep ravine. This stupendous chasm in 
the Blue Eidge is a thousand feet deep ; its granite walls rising 
perpendicularly in many places to the summit of the mountains. 
It extends in a devious line for nearly a mile, and the waters 
make, in their transit, a long series of cascades of great variety 
in form and extent. At one moment the stream flows peace- 
fully as at Lodore,* and, anon, it makes a grand free plunge 
of fifty or sixty feet, as at the falls known as the Oceana and 
the Tempesta, and again struggles and writhes amidst the con- 
fused boulders gathered at some sharp angle in the gorge. 
There are altogether no less than nine distinct cascades, each 
in itself worthy of a pilgrimage to see. They might have been 
not infelicitously baptized with the names of the Muses, for 
they present, in their several individualities, all the contrasting 
characteristics of the mythic group, from the dainty grace of 
the fair Terpsichore, to the solemn humour of grave Melpomene. 
" Seen from above, the picture is ever-changing and always 
impressive ; while in the bed of the ravine, to which numerous 
paths lead the visitor, a totally different and yet more in- 
teresting portfolio is opened. These charming cascades have 
become of late years a place of favourite resort for the dwellers 
on the seaboard of the Southern States. They are the central 
attraction of a wide field of natural beauties; and the whole 
region abounds with the summer villas of the opulent planters. 

* See frontispiece. 



TALLULAH AND TOCCOA. IH 

Many of these elegant seats embellish the neighbouring village 
of Clarksville ; a convenient place from which to reach all the 
surrounding points of interest. Toccoa and Tallulah in one 
direction, and the winsome vale of Nacoochee and the noble 
Yonah, in another. The Southern poets have always delighted 
to draw inspiration from these pet shrines of Nature. Who 
among us can gather some of their stray wreaths ?" 

"If my memory will be kind," said Mr. Flakewhite, in 
answer to this demand of the chair, "I will recall, for your 
edification, some passages from a tributary poem to Tallulah by 
the Hon. Henry R. Jackson, who served us, you may remem- 
ber, at our last meeting, in our meditations at Toccoa. The 
poet is, like ourselves, passing from the gentler to the grander 
of the sister streams. 

"'But hark! beneath yon hoary precipice, 

The rush of mightier waters, as they pour 
In foaming torrents through the dark abyss. 

Which echoes back the thunders of their roar ; 
Approach the frightful gorge, and, gazing o'er. 

What mad emotions through the bosom thrill; 
Hast ever seen so dread a sight before? 

Tallulah ! by that name we hail thee still, 

Aiid own that thou art justly called the Teerible! 

In vain o'er thee shall glow with wild delight 

The painter's eye, and voiceless still shall be 
The poet's tongue, who from this giddy height 

Shall kindle in thy awful minstrelsy ! 
Tliou art too mighty in thy grandeur — we 

Too weak to give fit utterance to the soul! 
Thy billows mock us with their tempest glee. 

As thxmdering on while countless ages roll. 

Thou scornest man's applause, alike with man's control.' " 

" While talking of the romance of this picturesque neigh- 
bourhood," said Mr. Megilp, " I should like to tell you the 



• 



112 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

tragic legend wMch. gives name to the little valley of Nacoo- 
chee ; all about a lovely Indian princess, wlio sacrificed lier 
life to her passion for the son of a rival chieftain, and was 
buried with her lover beneath a huge mound, conspicuous in 
the centre of the valley at this day. But leaving you to fash- 
ion the tale for yourself, as every body else has done, I will 
make my homage to the beauty of the valley in the numbers 
of a remembered song,* 

'"Enshrined in my heart is the vale of Nacoochee, 
And memory often makes pilgrimage sweet 
To the beautiful haunts of the bright Chattahooche, 
Where its silvery foimtains in melody meet. 

The poets may boast if they will, of Wyoming, 

Of peerless Avoca, and lovely Cashmere ; 
My fancy, contented without any roaming. 

Shall find in Nacoochee a valley more dear. 

Oh I soft are its airs, and delicious its breezes, 

Perfumed by the breath of a thousand wild flowers; 

And wafting the music of Nature, which pleases 
Far more than the charms of Apollo's rare powers. 

The sentinel mountains around this sweet valley 
Lift watchful and proudly their towering forms ; 

And when 'round their crests the fierce tempest clouds rally, 
It sleeps in their bosoms vinrecking of storms. 

Above thee, oh vale of my heart! there's a splendour 
Unwonted and peerless in day's glowing beam ; 

And never are Dian's chaste kisses so tender, 

As when she bestows them on thy crystal stream. 

Farewell, lovely valley I sweet theme of my numbers. 
Thy beauty shall evermore dwell in my heart ; 

No vision more rare shall be known to my slumbers, 
No scene fi'om my memory shall later dej^artl'" 

* William C. Richards, Esq. 



MANNERS OF THE MOUNTAINEEHS. 113 

" The valley of Nacoocliee," said Mr. Brownoker, as Megilp 
ended his lyric, " is useful as well as ornamental ; its soil yield- 
ing to the tiller rich returns, not only of luscious grains and 
fruits, but of pure gold. Indeed, as you are all aware, the 
mountain regions of Georgia, and the Carolinas, have long been 
successfully searched for the precious ore. In the "North State," 
as the people here call the upper Carolina, the government 
years ago established a branch mint, and another in Georgia, 
not more than two days' stout walk from Nacoochee. Iron is 
also found in this region, but it is more practically abundant 
a little further westward." 

" Mr. Brownoker's allusion to the material wealth of these 
too much isolated regions of the ■ South-east, leads me to give 
expression to a thought which has often come to my mind," 
said the chairman ; " the hope that the influx of new and 
broader ideas, carried thither by the increasing current of travel, 
and by enlarged industry and ambition, will soon lift the peo- 
ple above the gross ignorance in which they at present so con- 
tentedly rest. In no part of our Union is the mental condition 
of the peasantry so low as among the inhabitants of the Southern 
mountain lands; so destitute are they of schools, and so little 
is their intercourse with the world beyond them. Where the 
usual means of education happen to be wanting at the North 
and West, there is still a constant shifting and interchange of 
population, which induces mental activity and progress." 

" I sincerely hope that there will be, through some agency 
or other, a chan|^ for the better before my next visit," said 
Mr. Megilp, " and that the good people will learn the uses of 
some of the necessities, if not of the comforts and refinements 
of life. I have travelled weeks together, hereabouts, without 
finding a book or a newspaper, or any one who could have 
read them had they been there. Sometimes I have had diffi- 
culty in making myself intelligible to their uncultured ears, 



^K' 



114 THE EOiIA:XCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

and have been set down as belonging to any race but tlieir 
own. One estimable lady tliought I was too 'light complected' 
for an 'Ingin,' and that I talked 'too broken' to be an 
' Irisher ' or a ' Jew,' or even a ' Frenchman.' To relieve her 
mind, I gravely informed her that I was a Turk — a claim sup- 
ported by the miraculous beard I wore at the time, as well 
as by a genuine hookah I always carry with me, and was then 
smoking ; to say nothing about a famous Greek cap which 
adorned my phrenology." 

" ' Lord alive !' exclaimed the simple matron, in great alarm, 
and dropping her own corn-cob pipe from her lips. ' You 
don't mean to say that you are one o' them heathen what I've 
heerd tell of, that lives on a great wall, and has ever so many 
women, and chucks their motherless babes under the wheels of 
Juggerney I' 

" 'I certainly belong there,' said I, 'but my countrymen are 
very much slandered. "We do the babies now with epsom salts, 
and keep " Juggerney " for the old women only. As to the 
wives, it's against the law for any man to have over forty-seven, 
except the Sultan, and we are not allowed to whip them more 
than twice a day, unless they happen to be exceedingly ob- 
streperous.' 

" ' The Lord preserve us!' ejaculated my hostess. 'I wonder 
they let sich critters go about !' 

" ' Oh !' said I, ' when we are away from home we always 
do just like other people. As for myself, I came over on an 
elephant and six dromedaries to present a gold "Juggerney" 
to the President of the United States, as a mark of respect from 
my uncle, the great Cham.' 

" This allusion to my august relative, and the high dignity 
of my mission, awakened the respect of the old lady, and her 
reverence greatly increased when I informed her that the Presi- 
dent had insisted upon my staying with him a month, and had 



xMEGILP's METAMORPHOSES. 115 

given me a lock of his hair in a gutta-percha box to carry 
back to my Imperial uucle. 

" When, as supper time was approaching, the worthy widow 
grew doubtful about the abilities of her cuisine to supply the 
wants of so extraordinary a traveller as myself, I assured her 
that I had become a.ccustomed to eat any thing, though if she 
had such an article in the house as a few young and tender 
cats 

" ' Cats ! oh gracious !' 

" ' Well, well, it's no matter if you haven't got them ; and, 
then, if you had, you wouldn't know precisely how to cook 
them ; and, unless they are done exactly right they are no 
nicer than chickens and other things of that sort; so just do 
the best you can.' 

" When supper was ready, and the hostess watched my skill 
in disposing of her provisions, she seemed to think that I had 
indeed a wonderful knack of adapting myself to circumstances, 
whatever they were ! 

"On another occasion," continued the veracious Megilp, 
" when I was travelling in the character of a preacher — my 
vocation about that time varied with each passing "day — I held 
up for the night at a house, where a bridal ceremony was in 
waiting. The victims were young slaves of the family. Great 
preparations had been made, and both whites and blacks were 
expecting to have 'a time.' 

" Unfortunately, just at the very height of expectation, 
intelligence was received of the sudden illness of the minister 
and his consequent inability to attend. Here was a dilemma ! 
To postpone the frolic was a shocking thought to everybody ; 
but to me, the turn in affairs was particularly annoying, when 
every eye was bent upon me with a look which I could not 
fail to understand, and if I had failed to do so, it would not 
have ameliorated my condition in the least, for a general request 



116 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

was immediately made in so many plain words, that I should 
assume the office of the absent priest ! 

" The thing seemed so simple to every body, except myself, 
that there was no avoiding it, unless I doffed my borrowed 
plumes; and I have always played whatever part I have as- 
sumed, at all risks. Then the bride-elect, too— a pretty girl, 
though of a rather sunburnt hue — considered my hesitation as 
so unnecessarily cruel, that I was compelled to yield; and, in 
due time, the Eev. Mr. Megilp united the happy pair for better 
and for worse, with the grave injunction that what he had 
joined together no man should put asunder! Of course I 
declined all fee for my clerical service, even to the hymeneal 
kiss. Not having passed that way since, I am able to guess 
only at the results of my evening's work. I trust, however, 
that they have been satisfactory to all parties." 

" Megilp's adventures," said Mr. Brownoker, when the 
gravity of our guests was restored, "remind me of a merry 
experience of my own. Like him, I was travelling in the 
Cherokee region of Georgia, but I was accompanied by a wag- 
gish friend more given to fun than myself even. I am a great 
consumer of- the article, but he is a manufacturer. He makes 
sport every where, and of every thing. Life is to him a per- 
petual laugh. 

" We were driving towards the falls of Tallulah. Our road 
lay along an elevated tract where water is rarely abundant, 
and just then a protracted drought had made it yet more scarce ; 
we found it difficult to keep our horses sufficiently soaked, espe- 
cially as the few and far between settlers were quite disinclined 
to supply us from their half-empty wells. In our dilemma 
we thought it advisable to astonish the natives a little, and the 
most facile means seemed to be to turn Frenchmen, seeing that 
we could speak the language execrably, and like Megilp when 
he played the Grand Turk, were bearded like the pard. It 



MR, BROWNOKER's STORY. 117 

was agreed that my companion should be totally ignorant of 
the English tongue, while I should be barely able to make 
myself intelligible. 

" When we came within hearing of the next house, my 
friend Harry rolled off in a towering voice, a Gallic rigmarole, 
which would have petrified a Canadian ; and which speedily 
brought an old woman and a troop of white-headed clay-eating 
urchins to the door. 

"Pointing to the horse, Harry continued an earnest and 
vigorous discharge of his strange gibberish at the ears of the 
bewildered woman, which he did not cease for a moment, not 
even as I was endeavouring to translate his speech. 

" ' Mon ami — my frien — madam, vous demande de I'eau for 
de cheval — de horse.' 

" ' Sh' !' said the poor woman. 

"*De I'eau, madam! watere for de horse. You understan' 
rne, mon dieu !' 

"'Oh yes!' cried madam, with beaming intelligence. 'I 
understand you a little, but that other gentleman, I can't make 
out at all what he says.' 

" ' Yous voyez, madam,' said I, as we alighted and were 
preparing to accept her ready proffer of the water we required, 
* que nous sommes — zat is, we are ze Frenchmans — we have 
not been long temps — vat you call long time, in dis vilain pays 
— dis beautiful countree ; and nous ne don't speak English 
pas.' 

" Every thing was so new and strange to us, that we found 
it impossible first to get the bucket down the well and after- 
wards to raise it up ; so madam, in seeking to instruct us, had 
to do both herself. Seeing me especially charmed with some 
bees humming around the pail, and seeking with gay delight 
to catch them, she warned me that they would sting. 

" ' Mon dieu !' I exclaimed, starting back in affright, ' you 



118 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE, 

tink him hite ! Sacre bleu ! mille tonnerres ! petites pommes 
de terre !' 

" At tliis moment a grim suspicions old mastiff, wlio evi- 
dently was not to be sold so cheaply as his mistress, poked his 
inquiring nose so close to my companion's person that in his 
alarm he for an instant forgot his part, and cried in most be- 
trayingly intelligible Saxon, ' Get out !' 

" The woman turned with an odd look of surprise, first at 
Harry and then at me. 

" ' My frien', madam,' said I, in explanation, ' speak one, 
two, three, leetle word English ! pas de plus ! He say " verra 
well, — verra well indeed, — good mornin," " how you do," 
" I tank you," " no you don't," " get out !" Zat is all !' 

" Our divertissement was so successful, that we determined 
to continue it as much for amusement as for use. We passed 
neither house nor traveller without leaving the wonder behind 
us, how poor devils like ourselves, in a strange land, and so 
deplorably ignorant of the language, could manage to find our 
way about ! 

"Yenerable gentlemen whom we met on the road, took 
infinite trouble to instruct us in the way, which we knew far 
better than they themselves; even counting the miles from 
point to point on their fingers! 

" "When we held up, for the night, at one of the cabins by 
the wayside, we changed characters, Harry talking with con- 
siderable fluency, while I, having just left Paris, could not speak 
a word. When we were seated at the supper table, Harry 
inquired if it was customary to make prayers. 

" ' How ?' said our hostess. 

" ' I mean, do you ask for blessings ?' 

'"Oh, ah, yes.! We ask a blessing — yes su'!' 

" Whereupon, Harry, with the gravest air imaginable, and 
with edifying unction, said — 



MR. BROWNOKER's STORY. 119 

" ' 0, Saint Patrick, make us able 
To eat all things on the table !' 

" ' You may be surprised, madam,' said he, in reply to tlie 
astonished look of the simple landlady, ' but that is the way 
we do those things in our country !' As supper proceeded, 
Harry continued to explain the customs of his country, and 
so novel were they to myself, and so grotesque the stories which 
he told of my own life and character, that it was with great 
difficulty I could keep my countenance and save myself from 
laughing outright. 

" At another time we attempted a negotiation for the pur- 
chase of some watermelons and peaches, neither of which we 
had ever seen before. The melon we would not buy unless 
permitted to taste it, which the man seemed to consider a very 
unreasonable demand ; and the peaches we half devoured in 
successive and dubious trials of their flavour; we affected to 
take the things as a present, and made the poor fellow nearly 
crazy in his efforts to explain to us that they were to be sold 
and not given away. At last, in despair of comprehending 
each other, we gave the fruiterer some change and bade him 
bon jour. 

"It happened, that while Harry was thus jabbering to a 
maiden by a brook-side, he was overheard by a party of ladies 
and gentlemen who approached at the moment, on their way, 
like ourselves, to the Falls. As we expected to stay some 
time at Tallulah, we did not intend to continue our rather diffi- 
cult role while there ; but after committing ourselves as we had 
with our fellow tourists, Harry was bent upon ' going through,' 
as he said. And 'go through,' and bravely, too, he did, until 
the second night as he was smoking upon the piazza, within 
hearing of a love-making pair from the 'low countree,' the lady 
cautioned her gallant to speak less loudly. 






120 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

" ' Oh !' said Lovelace, ' he's nothing but a stupid dolt of 
a Frenchman, and does not understand a word we say;' and 
the soft dialogue went on unreservedly. 

" The character of this amorous tryst and talk was of so 
pleasing a kind, and that of the swain so displeasing to Harry, 
that he could not refrain from confiding it to me, and I to 
others, until at length my friend was unmasked ; at first with 
every prospect of coifee and pistols, but afterwards to his ov/n 
and everybody else's entire satisfaction and extreme amuse- 
ment. 

" Two or three years later I was again travelling this same 
road, but with a different companion. Eecalling the incidents of 
my former journey, I promised him, should we be able to find 
the house where we had passed our first night on that occasion, 
to resume my character of foreigner. But the day was waning, 
and fearful of the approaching darkness, we were constrained 
to seek quarters without delay. Coming to what seemed to 
us as comfortable ones as we might expect, we held a pleasant 
talk, in good English, of course, with the old man as we 
bespoke his hospitality. Judge of our surprise and vexation, 
when we entered the house and found it to be the very one 
of which we had been in search ! As it was then too late to 
resume my former role, I determined to ignore it altogether. 

"Down we sat in the same little shed-room, upon the same 
low chairs, to the. same high table ; the same old hostess in 
the same place, and I too, seated as two years before. 

" ' I reckon,' said madam, after eyeing me with lono- and 
close scrutiny, ' that you have travelled this road afore ?' 

"'My first visit to these parts, madam!' said I, coolly; at 
the same time passing my cup for additional coffee. 

" For a while she was silent, but at length renewed her 
attack. 



^ 



MR. BROWNOKER's STORY. 121 

" ' You remind me so much,' said slie, 'of a gentleman who 
was here two years ago !' 

" ' Ah !' I answered, indifferently. 

" ' Yes !' said she, after another pause, and resuming the 
tliread of her reverie as if no interval had occurred in the 
conversation. ' Yes ! very much I You are powerful like him, 
though you don't talk like him. He was a Frenchman, I think 
he said; and I couldn't make any sense of a word he spoke. 
All but your talk, you are just as like him as two peas. But 
that other man, there, ain't a bit like the one who was with 
him.' 

"I affected to pay little attention to what my hostess was 
saying, but my friend had to choke down his merriment with 
his handkerchief and a sudden cough. 

"At last, as the old lady continued to wonder at my sin- 
gular resemblance to her former guest, I asked her if he was 
so and so, this, that, and the other. 

'"Just so! exactly! that's him to a dot!' said she in reply 
to all my questions. 

" ' Ah !' said I, laughing. ' Now I understand it. I know 
who you are talking of; wonder I did not think of him be- 
fore!' And then, addressing my tortured friend, I continued: 
'It must be Massareau and his brother! of course!' 

" ' Massareau — Frangois Massareau and his brother !' said I 
speaking conclusively to our hostess. ' They are Frenchmen • 
live near me ; I know them well ; have heard them speak of 
their visit to Tallulah — two years ago did you say?' 

" ' Yes, two years, exactly.' 

"'Exactly!' said I. 'They were here at that time. Do 
you know I have been often mistaken for Frangois ; people 
have come to me talking a string of stuff, outlandish lingo that 
I couldn't make head or tail of; and I have had the greatest 



122 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

trouble to convince them that they had got hold of the wrong 
passenger.' 

"This explanation quite cleared up the mystery and set 
the old lady's mind at rest for the balance of our stay. 

"But my story is not yet told; after the lapse of another 
two years I was a third time travelling this road, and now, 
again, with my first companion. I had narrated to him the 
continuation of our play at the old lady's, and we were carefal 
to pass another night under her roof and to resume the style 
and character of ' Frangois Massareau and his brother.' I, of 
course, was to have learned in the lapse of four years to speak 
the langauge sufiiciently to make myself understood. 

" The old woman was more dumbfounded than ever, when 
I disavowed all knowledge of the last visit I had made her, 
and claimed identity with the hero of the first only; but my 
broken speech and the mention of my name of Massareau set 
her right again, and she entertained us through the evening 
with a description of my last visit, and of the terrible bothera- 
tion into which my wonderful likeness to myself had thrown 
her. On my second visit I had taken occasion to give so good 
an account of M. Frangois Massareau, that now, he received the 
heartiest welcome and care. Whether, the next time I go 
there, I shall be myself^ or somebody else, I cannot say!" 

"Notwithstanding the narrowed ambition and the primi- 
tive manners of these mountaineers in their quiet insulated life," 
said Mr. Flakewhite, as our waggish historian ended his grave 
anecdotes, "you may yet find them dreaming day-dreams and 
nursing gentle thoughts of beauty and love, no less than the 
dainty dwellers in more cultured lands. In attestation of this 
remark I could tell you a simple yet romantic history, con- 
nected with the very spot we are now visiting." 

"You will place us under great obligations," said the chair- 
man. 






rf^ 



KITTY, THE WOODMAI^'s DAUGHTER. 123 

"Bj all means let us hear Flakewbite's experience!" said 
everybody else. 

And without farther prelude, the brother began his record 
of the joys and sorrows of 



"I had spent a long and happy season at the beautiful 
Falls of Tallulah, scarcely conscious of the lapse of time as I 
wandered and mused and studied, day after day, amidst the 
ever varying scene ; my mercurial humour leading me, at one 
hour, merrily along the pebbly marge of the prattling brooklet, 
coquetting with the gay sunshine as if it never dreamed of 
a ruder life; and, anon, irresistilDly dragging me down, as the 
fabled water wraiths drew their fated victims, into the gloomy 
and ghostly shades of the dark weird chasms, where the late 
careless waters were madly struggling with the giant rocks 
and the ingulphing precipice; or, when in a more social vein, 
I would set off with my host and other worthies of the woods 
in quest of the bounding deer, returning at night to chat over 
the fortunes of the day and exchange tales of past prowess. 
To all these agreeable occupations, there was pleasantly added 
such thoughts as I could draw from the glimpses of the great 
world beyond, which the constant, though quiet current of 
summer visitors afforded me. 

" By and by the sorrowing winds of autumn came to deepen 
the wailing chant of the waters, and the spirit of the place 
grew oppressive in its loneliness and sadness. Even the kindly 
humour of my host and the society of his strangely interesting 
family, so entirely failed to relieve the deepening gloom of 
my reveries, that I determined to seek brighter and more cheer- 



124 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

ful scenes. It was on the eve of my departure, that I was 
commiserating my worthy host uj)on the untowardness of his 
lot, on being chained forever to so lonely and desolate a home, 
when he assured me, with a smile, that he found in his secluded 
dells a thousand grateful objects for thought and study, which 
those habituated to more brilliant and more busy scenes never 
suspected to exist 

" ' It is not alone,' said he, ' in your great cities that the 
romance of thought and action is to be found. Even in these 
thinly peopled woods, the observant eye may read life's his- 
tories, its smiles and tears, in the perpetual rehearsal of all the 
acts and scenes in both the comedy and tragedy of life. If 
you please, I will tell you a simple tale of love and ambition, 
which may read as pleasantly as any stories to be gathered 
in your thronged streets and crowded saloons.' 

" ' Indeed,' I answered, ' I should of all things like to hear 
your history.' 

" ' You must not anticipate too much,' said he, observing 
my look of eager expectation. ' My heroine is but a simple 
country lass. One of that untaught class whom you derisively 
call ''crackers." Let me see — what shall I name her? Kitty? 
Yes, Kitty it shall be, after my good wife. "Kitty, the wood- 
man's daughter." ' 

" Kitty, at that hour of her life of which I am speaking, 
was just upon the mystic threshold of womanhood. As she 
was herself well enough aware, she was a provokingly pretty 
lass, and when her country beaux told her so in their plain 
frank way, she made the sweetest of scornful mouths, and won- 
dered why they could not tell her something new. In the 
city she would soon have been quite spoiled — no, not quite, 
for despite her vanity and coquetry, there was at the bottom 
of her nature a truth and goodness which nothing could spoil. 
It was the unconscious perception of these better and deeper 



KITTY, THE WOODMAN's DAUGHTER. 125 

traits of Kitty's cliaracter, which made her rude admirers so 
readily forgive all her pretty imperious disdain. Though af- 
flicted, as she thought, with incorrigibly rosy health, there was 
a native grace and delicacy in her whole person and manner, 
and a sentiment of refinement in all her tastes and feelings, 
which seemed to lift her far above the social grade of her 
kindred and fellows. Her parents were too proud of these 
attractions in their "little lady," as they delighted to call her, 
to notice their dangerous tendency; how they were filling her 
young dreaming heart with aspirations above the position in 
which forturte had placed her; aspirations which might some 
day lure their pretty butterfly far beyond their own narrow 
reach. This danger they did not perceive, much less the fatal 
nourishment it drew from the fascinating glimpses of a prouder 
and more beautiful life, which Kitty saw in the society of the 
summer visitants to the Falls; who were at once attracted by 
her beauty and wit, and to whose manners and tastes she 
assimilated herself as by instinct. Though she did not neg- 
lect, yet she would hasten her household toils, that she might 
talk with the fair girls from the lowlands about the glittering 
scenes of their own gay life, and they, pleased with her eager 
curiosity and interest, would open her beaming eyes to a thou- 
sand seductive pictures. The elegant compliments, too, of the 
gentlemen, charmed her beyond measure, though she received 
their honeyed speeches with a mixture of girlish simplicity and 
womanly sense, which was an effectual antidote to any poison 
they bore, beyond a fostering of her thoughtless vanity and 
vague ambition. How proudly she looked down upon her 
country mates, as she familiarly walked or rode by the side 
of the city ladies! and with what a queenly air she saluted 
her rustic swains when she encountered them, as she coquetted 
with her more elegant admirers ! 

"Kitty, at this time, was rapidly cherishing a spirit of 



126 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

discontent with lier humble sphere. She dreamed of gay- 
dresses, and perfumed gloves, and delicate slippers, while she 
looked at her own simple wardrobe. She thought of soft car- 
pets, as she scornfully trod the fragrant, flowery greensward; 
and of piano-fortes and opera-airs, as she turned a wearied 
ear from the carols of the birds in the tree-tops. Even when 
the winter days came and she was again cast upon the society 
of her own home, only, the fatal spell still influenced her, 
through the luring voice of the light books which her summer 
friends had left behind them ; just such books as she could 
read with the least possible advantage, especially in her then 
romantic humour. 

" She would muse over these fascinating pages by the even- 
ing fire-side, to the entire forgetfulness of the gossip around 
her, and until she grew unable to listen, even with patience, 
to the homely talk of the few country lads who were still 
bold enough to approach her. They were few, indeed, and 
daily diminishing in number, in the frostiness of her fine lady 
airs ; for to men untaught in the gallantries of courtly society, 
there is no object in the world so awe-inspiring as the presence 
of a proud and beautiful woman. 

" While her timid suitors thus one after the other withdrew, 
there was one, the humblest of them all, who still lingered in 
her train. Night after night, poor Davy, as he was called, 
would come to her father's hearth, and, while talking of the 
chase or of the crops with the honest woodman, would watch 
the loved features of his absent-minded or preoccupied Kitty. 
Now Kitty had a sort of liking for Davy, but it had never 
entered into her haughty head that he, of all her associates, 
could by any possibility aspire to any higher sort of interest 
in her heart; and, for this very reason, no doubt, she often 
deio-ned to show the lad much more consideration than she 

O 

bestowed upon his betters. Indeed, she honoured him with 



KITTY, THE WOODMAN's DAUGHTER. 127 

confidences she would have shrunk from imparting to any of 
her own sex. She would tell him of her proud dreams and 
exalted fancies. Once she treated him to a full length picture 
of the extraordinary gentleman for whom she was saving up 
her little heart; a picture in which the unhappy Davy could 
detect no resemblance whatever to himself 

"The winter was the golden season of our hero's life, for 
then he enjoyed an access, to the shrine of his silent worship, 
from which he was barred in the warm months by the inter- 
vention of more favoured supplicants. These brighter days of' 
the year— sadder ones to Davy — were again returning; but 
as a last ray of his passing sunshine, Kitty had, to his great 
delight, invited him to accompany her on a visit to the Falls. 
Nature was donning her gayest attire, and her hopeful smiles 
won responsive gladness from the blithe heart of our Kitty, 
dreamily expectant of coming pleasures. Davy thought that 
he had never seen lier looking so beautiful, and he watched 
her with loving anxiety as she flew with mad temerity from 
rock to rock, up and down the frightful ravine. 

'"Don't, don't, Kitty!' he would cry, in painful alarm 
at her daring. 'Please, don't! If you should fall into the 

water, what should I do ' 

'"What should you do, indeed! Why fish me out to be 
sure ! A pretty beau you are, not to know what to do in such 
a simple case!' and on she would fly over yet more dano-er- 
ous paths. 

" At length, as if to vindicate the reasonableness of Davy's 
fears, while rounding a narrow ledge, her foot slijDped, and 
she fell — into the arms, not, alas! of her honest cicerone, but 
of a new-comer, who, happily for her, was at that timely in- 
stant turning the rocky corner from the opposite side. 

" The stranger smiled, as he placed her in safety upon her 
wilful feet, with a playful reproof of her reckless courage* 



128 THE KOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

and Kitty, conquering the blush which mantled her face as 
she noticed that her protector was a stranger and a 'gentle- 
man,' expressed her thanks in very proper phrase ; so gracefully, 
indeed, as to win him to linger by her side in her farther wan- 
derings about the gorge; and, as to lead him, when they 
regained the spot of their first meeting, and Kitty intimated 
her intention of returning home, to insist upon accompanying 
her. 

" ' Besides,' said he, urging his request, which she had half 
denied, and pointing to Davy, still rooted to the place from 
whence he had witnessed her lucky escape, 'our young friend, 
there, takes such poor care of you, that I can no more trust 
you to him than to yourself!' 

'" Oh ! I thank you !' said Kitty. ' It was not Davy's 
fault! I have but a little way to go, only to the first house 
on the road, which you must have travelled in coming here.' 

" ' Ah ! so your father lives at the first house, does he ? 
Then you can't prevent my going with you, for that is my 
home, too, for a while. And so,' he continued, looking at the 
young girl with sincere interest, 'you are that Kitty of whom 
I have heard my sister Nora — Miss Waller, talk so much!' 

" ' Nora ! — Miss Waller !' cried Kitty, in delighted surprise. 
'And, are you her brother ' 

" ' Charles Waller — like my sister, your old, good friend, 
if you will let it be so,' said the gentleman, gaily. 

"Kitty readily accepted the proffered friendship, both fu- 
ture and retrospective, for the stranger's sister was the best 
beloved of all her gay summer friends. She had countless 
questions to ask about her, and when they were answered, 
there came other things to talk of, so that their long walk 
seemed not half long enough, to Kitty, at least, when it 
brought them to her father's door. 

"Honest Davy had trudged on behind, all the while, in 



KITTY, THE WOODMAN's DAUGHTER. 129 

a muck less liappy mood than that in which he had begun 
the excursion ; his jealous heart drawing most discouraging 
comparisons between his new rival and himself — comparisons 
which, in justice to Kitty, we must say, it never i>ccurred to 
herself to make. 

" A cordial companionship was soon established between 
Kitty and her guest. Her merry, pleasant society, often be- 
guiled him from his studies, and she was not unfrequently 
the sharer of his long forest- walks. He taught her the mystery 
of the pencil, as his sister had before initiated her into the de- 
lights of music. Sometimes, too, he playfully helped her in 
her household cares, even to the making of the pies, and the 
milking of the cows. 

" Our slighted Davy looked with an evil eye upon this 
unwelcome intimacy, but he knew not how to check it. If 
he were cross, Kitty would scold, and Charles would laugh; 
but so kindly, that he felt himself compelled to gratitude, 
rather than to resentment. Indeed, despite himself, he soon 
grew to like Charles, and to become his constant and willing 
attendant in his rambles, as he sketched or hunted. Perhaps 
he was not unconscious of the advantage which the association 
was to him, for he had something of Kitty's own gift of as- 
similation, a gift which was now manifesting itself in a way 
which surprised even Kitty hersel:^ since she had never con- 
sidered Davy a genius, either developed or undeveloped. 

" As the weeks rolled by, and, especially, as new guests 
came to her father's house, Kitty's manner towards Charles 
underwent a very noticeable change. She did not meet him 
with the same sisterly frankness, or in the same merry humour. 
Charles, at such times, thinking he had unwittingly offended 
her, would seek to atone by greater kindness for his fancied 
faults. Little suspecting his real, though unintentional crime — 
the theft of the poor girl's simple heart — his attempted repara- 
9 



130 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

tion but increased his guilt; for the more he sought to regain 
the ground he fancied that he had lost in her esteem, the more 
she loved, and the more she still avoided him. 

" On one occasion, to call back her truant gaiety, he showed 
her some of his pictures which she had not yet seen. Among 
them was a portrait of his sister, with which Kitty was espe- 
cially delighted. 

"'And now,' said he, with a smile, 'you shall see another 
picture — that of my sister's best friend ;' and, after a moment's 
hesitation, he displayed another face of such winning sweetness, 
that Kitty silently wondered if there could be any living woman 
so beautiful ! 

" ' It is,' said Charles, reading her unspoken thought, ' not 
half so lovely as the original ! I am sure you will love her- 
self much more than you admire her picture !' 

" ' I,' said Kitty. ' How shall I ever see her ?' 

" ' She is coming soon.' 

" ' Coming here !' 

" ' Yes, with my sister. Why don't you congratulate me, 
Kitty ?' 

" ' Because, because,' answered Kitty, blushing. ' Because 
I ' 

" ' Now be a good Kitty, and say that it is because they 
will take me away with them ! "Well, Kitty, there can be no 
pleasure without its pain; and, I assure you, that to leave you 
and all these beautiful scenes, where I have lived so long, 
and enjoyed myself so much, is a great drawback to my plea- 
sure now.' 

" Kitty made but an awkward reply, either to the raillery, 
or the regard, in Charles' speech ; for a new and absorbing 
thought grew in her mind, as she still looked at the picture. 

" ' And is she the lady who writes you so many letters ?' 
she asked at last, with a faint smile. 



KITTY, THE WOODMAN's DAUGHTER. 131 

" ' Ah ! what an inquisitive little Kitty ! Has Davy never 
written you any letters?' 

" ' Davy ! write me letters !' 

*" Oh ! I remember, he has never been away from you ! 
But 0, Kitty, the ink and paper he would have wasted, if he 
had been!' 

" ' Davy — write— me — letters !' said Kitty, again, in increased 
astonishment. 

" ' Why, he looks a hundred letters to you, every time he 
brings me one 1' 

" ' I hate him !' cried Kitty, with sudden vehemence. 

" ' Hate him I Hate good, honest Davy !' said Charles, 
gravely. 'But that is a pity, for he loves you dearly.' 

" ' No, no, never ! I hate him !' repeated Kitty, giving 
vent to the fast flowing tears, as she hastened out of the room. 

"While rapidly passing through the general sitting-room 
on her way to her own apartment, she was stopped by some 
strangers, who had at that moment arrived; and in an instant 
she was in the arms of her friend Nora, whose efforts to kiss 
away her unwonted tears, were seconded by the fair original 
of Charles' treasured j)ortrait. 

" ' And my brother, Kitty, have you taken good care of 
him? Ah, if you have not, Caro' here, will help me scold 
you, as she has just helped me kiss you !' 

" ' He, he is — in his room,' said Kitty, as she hurried away, 
on hearing Charles' bounding step following the sound of his 
sister's voice. 

" Her abrupt flight was unnoticed, in the glad meeting of 
Charles and his friends, and neither of them thought of her 
again, until they met her at the tea-table, when her strange 
and abstracted mood was a matter of general and curious 
remark. 

" ' What,' said Nora, when she was again alone with Charles 



132 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

and Ciiro'~as she called her companion — ' What is the matter 
with Kitty? So different from Avhat she was last summer!' 

" ' And to what she has been until to-day,' said Charles. 
' Some quarrel, I suppose, with Davy !' 

"'Davy!' said Nora, 'that reminds me how greatly he has 
improved since my last year's visit! And is he as much 
devoted to Kitty as ever?' 

" ' He loves her to distraction,' said Charles, ' and I do not 
doubt but that she loves him, for he is almost the only one 
of her swains whom she admits to her intimacy. We must 
manage to effect a reconciliation between them.' And then 
Charles broke out into a long catalogue of the praises of Kitty, 
extolling her as the sunlight of his life at the Falls. 

" Caro' listened silently and thoughtfully, divining at once a 
secret, which Charles had failed to read, plainly as it had been 
shown to him. But, then, Charles' and Caro's interest in the 
matter was widely different. 

" In the days which followed, Caro' devoted herself to Kitty, 
with assiduous kindness, and soon drew from her, without her 
Icnowledge, sufficient confirmation of her fears. Without seem- 
ing to do so, she sought, with all her powers, to cure her of 
\\QV unhappy passion, and to make her sensible of the worth 
and the love of her ill-appreciated Davy. This she did for 
Davy's own sake, as well as for Kitty's ; as she really felt for 
his generous character all the respect she was so careful to 

show. 

" Kitty's nature was too gentle to cherish unkind thoughts, 
and she had, excepting at moments of egarement, too much 
'>:ood sense to struggle against impossibilities. She soon loved 
Caro' too earnestly, even, to wish to stand in the way of her 
happiness; and she felt that her own rash dreams were vain 
cnouo-h, when she contrasted the accomplished and beautiful 
!ady with the ignorant country girl. 



KITTY, THE WOODMAN'S DAUGHTER. 133 

'' And yet, all this was no panacea to her stricken heart, in 
which all was still dark and hopeless. She had loved without 
reason, and so she now grieved and despaired. At wilder mo- 
ments, she even consoled herself, in the same mad way as she 
sought to believe, that, after all, Charles might love her ; that 
his interest in Caro', and hers in him, was only a terrible 
dream. 

" It was while suffering the feverish excitement of an illusion 
of this kind, that she one day stealthily followed Caro' and 
Charles, in their stroll to the Falls. Having lost sight of them 
when she came to the bed of the ravine, she again sought the 
fatal rock where Charles had so opportunely arrested her falter- 
ing steps. She looked, as she then stood, long and thought- 
fully, into the angry waters. A strange smile stole to her lips, 
and quickly passed, as she caught the sound of familiar voices, 
close to her, on the other side of the rock. Caro' was speaking. 
She listened with painful intentness. 

"'I tell you, Charles, the poor child loves you!' said the 
lady, 'and, but for the egotism of your love for me, you would 
have discovered the truth long ago !' 

"'Nonsense, Caro', dear! she could not be so silly, so mad! 
she has too much good sense — she loves Davy, I tell you, which 
is a much more rational exploit !' 

" Kitty's life — the spark, which alone was left — went out, at 
these words. Had time been left her for reflection, she would 
have struggled, and successfully, against the dark feelings which 
now filled her wretched soul ; — but she gave only a despairing 
glance at the bitter past, and at the desolate future, and, in a 
moment, the sinister smile returned to her lips ; and springing, 
without a cry, from the precipice, her fair form was buried 
beneath the white-crested water. 

" Amidst the din of the rapids, no sound of this dark deed, 
which their words had hastened, came to the ears of the lovers • 



134: THE KOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

but tliere was an eye which, unobserved, had watched the 
whole fatal scene. 

" This vigilant sentinel was none other than our useful 
friend Davy. He had not failed to notice the recent deplorable 
change in Kitty's humour, nor to guess the cause. Suffering 
scarcely less than herself, he had seen her follow in pursuit 
of Caro' and Charles, and had himself joined the chase, though 
at a prudent distance. As she approached the Falls, her speed- 
ing figure was alternately present and lost to his sight, as his 
changing position enlarged or contracted his viev/. Beaching 
an overlooking bluff, he had, with terror, for a moment seen 
her standing upon the scene of her former misadventure ; and 
his fright increased to agony when his next glimpse of the 
rock showed it unoccupied. Terrible as was his interpretation 
of the mystery of her sudden disappearance, he could find no 
other explanation. Acting upon his fearful thought, he flew, 
almost breathless with dismay, toward the fatal spot. 

" Finding no trace of the fugitive, hope returned for a mo- 
ment to his heart, still but faintly ; and he continued his search, 
forebodingly, and minutely exploring every recess of the neigh- 
bourhood. At length, he thought he saw something white 
entangled in the bushes which overhung the opposite edge 
of the cascade, and boldly plunging into the torrent, he secured 
the object, and drew towards the shore the lifeless body of his 
cherished Kitty. The unfortunate girl was cold and motionless, 
her eyes open and staring. Davy, in his horror, made the 
woods echo with his shouts, but without avail. At one mo- 
ment, he thought that he would die with her ; but the next, 
fancying, as he pressed her cold form to his own throbbing 
heart, and bathed her marble lips with his warm kisses, that 
she still breathed, he abandoned the idea of dying, and set 
vigorously to work to recall his charge to life. It was a lono- 
time, however, before any certain hope of returning conscious- 



KITTY, THE WOODMAN'S DAUGHTER. 135 

ness blessed his efforts. It was too far to carry lier home, if her 
condition had permitted such an attempt ; so he made a swel- 
tering fire, and half buried her in the warm ashes ; breathing, 
the while, with the full force of his strong lungs, the breath 
of life into her pulseless veins. It was a joyous moment for 
Davy when she at last raised her arms, and they fell upon his 
neck. 

" ' Where — where am I ?' were the first words she asked. 

" ' You are safe — safe, at last, dear Kitty. I saved you !' 

" ' You, Davy — you — saved me !' said the poor girl, faintly, 
and trying to recall her wandering faculties. ' Ah ! I — I re- 
member — now!' and she clung more closely to her faithful 
protector. 

" The alarm of the good people at the cabin was extreme, 
when hours passed away without any sign of the return either 
of Kitty or Davy. Charles remembered to have caught a 
glimpse, once or twice, of a woman, on his way to the Falls, 
and though he did not remark her particularly at the time, 
he now thought that she might possibly have been Kitty. He 
imparted his doubts to the old woodman, and they all set off, 
ill at ease, towards the ravine. 

" The fears, which more than one of the party had felt, 
yet dared not express, were realized when, passing down the 
stream, they found Davy's hat, and a part of Kitty's dress, 
clinging to the bushes ; but their joy was without alloy when, 
directly after, they heard Davy's voice, in reply to their strong 
cries, and, almost at the same moment, came upon the spot 
where Kitty' was, slowly, yet surely recovering. 

" ' Gently,' said the youth, extending his arms as a shield, 
when Kitty's friends pressed closely about her ; ' gently — she's 
only half alive yet.' 

" The feeble girl looked the thanks she was yet unable to 
speak, and, soon after, they all started homeward. Davy still 



136 THE KOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

bearing his precious cliarge, she seemed in no need of the 
assistance which Charles offered ; and Kitty, herself, declined 
the service, as she smilingly pointed him to Caro'. 

" A long illness followed Kitty's accident, and weeks passed 
before she was able to leave her bed ; but Charles and his 
friends delayed their departure until all danger was over, when 
they returned to their homes, in the lowlands. " 

" And Kitty and Davy," said Mr. Brownoker, as the nar- 
rator paused in his story, "what became of them? "Was she 
cured of her romantic passion, and did she marry the devoted 
lad?" 

" Precisely what I asked my host," said Mr. Flakewhite, 
" when he reached that point of the tale I have told in my 
own words. ' Hush !' said he to me, as his good wife was 
then entering the room where we sat, ' hush — not a syllable 
about the story, which you may end for yourself. There is 
Kitty, and poor Davy sits by your side !' " 



CHAPTER TIL 

" I MUST beg you, gentlemen, to take a long breath to-night, 
for our route of travel is bringing us towards wide and adven- 
turous fields. We must suppose ourselves to bave made a 
world of cliarming observation, and to have gathered thick 
tomes of topographical lore, in our passage since our last meet- 
ing, from the grand waters of the Terrora, through the wild 
mountain region of northern Georgia, and among the frank 
and hearty, yet rude people, thinly scattered over the still 
desolate interior of Alabama and Mississippi ; for we are now 
passing the threshold of the great West." 

" And must keep a sharp eye on the alligators, and a 
bright lookout for snags," added Mr. Brownoker, taking an 
observation of the picture which the chairman was scruti- 
nizing, as he spoke, "for here we are, in the midst of the 
swamps and cane-breaks of Louisiana, and yonder roll the 
waters of the mighty river, stained with the travel of a thou- 
sand leagues." 

" Flowing now," said Mr. Vermeille, " in our sight, as they 
flowed three hundred years ago to the worshipping gaze of the 
forest tribes, when the chivalrous De Soto and his hardy 



138 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE, 

companions reared above them tlie towering cross in prophecy 
of their future greatness." 

" Yermeille is right," continued Mr. Flakewhite, looking at 
the picture of the evening, as, in passing from hand to hand, 
it reached his own, " to recall the name of the gallant Span- 
iard, as our eyes fall upon the glorious waters which his daring 
enterprise first revealed to the world. It is an event of long, 
long ago, to be sure, but yet in my frequent passages of the Mis- 
sissippi, it ever comes to my thoughts in all its wild romance, 
as distinctly and gratefully as if passing at the moment, and 
I an actor therein. The deeds of De Soto form the poetic 
period in the history of the great valley of the "West ; a poetry 
of fact which the most lawless fancy might seek in vain to 
exceed, "We talk much of the enterprise and progress of the 
present day ; while we are but timid snails compared with 
the impetuous and indomitable spirits of three centuries back ; 
when Columbus resolutely grasped a world, though opposed 
by the ridicule and sneers of all Christendom ; when Cortes 
and Pizarro conquered kingdoms and empires, and enriched 
Europe by their chivalry and prowess ; when great armies 
flocked to the fearless standards of De Leon, De Narvaez, and 
De Soto, laughing in their enthusiasm at all obstacles and 
perils. The story of those days and those men, so much does 
it surpass our own boasted times and achievements, seems to 
us but as a tale which is told. ' It was,' says Mr. Irving, in 
his . Conquest of Florida, ' poetry put in action ; it was the 
knight-errantry of the old world carried into the depths of 
the American wilderness; indeed, the personal adventures, the 
feats of individual prowess, the picturesque descriptions of 
steel-clad cavaliers, with lance and helm and prancing steed, 
glittering through the wildernesses of Florida, Georgia, and 
Alabama, and the prairies of the far West, would seem to us 
mere fictions of romance, did they not come to us recorded in 



THE south-west: early DISCOVERERS. 139 

matter of fact narratives of contemporaries, and corroborated by 
minute and daily memoranda of eye-witnesses.' How the tale 
of California, whicli our people take so much pride in rehears- 
ing, dwindles by the side of these magnificent exploits, though 
their fruits did not mature so soon as our own buds of ad- 
venture." 

"Your last allusion," said Mr. Blueblack, "throws a heavy 
shadow over the glowing picture you have displayed to our 
view ; a shadow, however, which only serves to deepen its 
brilliancy. I always think in sadness of the hapless fate of 
the brave old Ponce De Leon, finding only an exile's grave 
where he so confidently and resolutely searched for the foun- 
tain of youth. Perhaps he found the fabled waters, though, 
after all ; for is not the new world which he won, such an 
elixir to the decrepitude of the old nations? Then there is 
the fearless Diego Miruelo, and Lucas Yasquez de Allyon, and 
Pamphilo de Narvaez, and Alvar Nunez, and after them the 
grand De Soto, mad with will and energy, breasting a hundred 
crushing storms, and conquering a thousand incredible obsta- 
cles, in their resolute march through unknown wildernesses 
and among treacherous and implacable foes, only to perish 
miserably and alone, one after the other, in the height and 
glory of their gorgeous hopes. 

" What a contrast the splendid array of De Soto's army, in 
all its rich apparelling, as it set forth amidst the huzzas of the 
multitudes, makes with its shattered and war-grimed aspect 
some time afterwards, in its stealthy traverse of the MississijDpi, 
when ' the numerous and gallant host,' again using the words 
of Irving, 'had dwindled down to less than three hundred and 
fifty men ; their armour once brilliant, now battered and rusty ; 
their rich silken garments now reduced to rags and tatters ; 
some covered with skins like the native savages ; with hopes 
once so buoyant, now forlorn, and despair depicted in every 



140 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

countenance. How mournful this picture, and that — the young 
and ardent De Soto, passing rich in fortune, fame, love, and 
ambition— the sorrow-stricken and broken-hearted soldier, dying 
in the sunshine of his manhood, hopeless amidst the very 
scenes Avhich were to have realized his golden dreams : his 
poor remains stealthily removed from one unconsecrated sepul- 
chre to another, lest they should be exposed to the ignominious 
vengeance of his foes ; and, at last, buried fathoms deep, in the 
midnight darkness, beneath the cold floods, once to his eye 
so bright with joyous promise.' " 

"I am glad, gentlemen," said the chairman, at this point 
of our gossip, "to hear you recall these interesting scenes, 
holding as they do so high a place in both the stern reality 
and the bright romance of our country's story; but we must 
of necessity be brief, in this, as indeed, in all our reminiscences; 
and, it is now time that we speak of our subject in its present 
aspect. Asphaltum must have become intimately acquainted 
with the Mississippi, in his search for the materials of his ad- 
mirable panorama; and will be obliging enough, perhaps, to 
favour us with an introduction." 

"Always remembering," said Mr. Brownoker, laughing, 
"that the merit of a narrative does not, like that of a pano- 
rama, lie in its length. ' Three miles long,' may look inviting 
on his show-bills, but would be fearful at our round table!" 

" If I should relate to you, gentlemen," began Mr. Asphal- 
tum, "all the details of my explorations of the Mississippi, 
in my slow and patient voyage from the Falls of St. Anthony 
to the levee at New Orleans, you would, long before I finished, 
wish that our friend De Soto had stayed quietly at home, 
instead of opening the way for my wanderings ; or, that I were 
peacefully sleeping with him beneath the deep waters. You 
would grow wearied with the devious windings of the capricious 
current, and be crazed with the mere fancy of the mosquitoes 



THE MISSISSIPPI. 141 

and miasmas against which I have had to battle. Mj journey, 
which extended, winter and summer, through a whole year, 
was made in an open boat, now floating lazily down the stream, 
or merrily gliding among the swift rapids ; painfully urged 
against an opposing current, or gallantly towed by a high 
pressure steamer. 

" In the course of the voyage, of three thousand miles, 
from north to south — there is no other river in the world 
which traverses, latitudinally, so vast an area — of course I 
experienced every change . of climate, and all possible variety 
of vegetation, from the airs and products of the frozen, to those 
of the torrid zone ; and, of course, also, I filled my portfolio 
with every sort of landscape, from hills, woods, and waterfalls, 
to deep swamps and boundless prairies ; and met with adven- 
ture and fare as contrasted as the habits and characters of the 
rough and ready frontier squatters and hunters of the one 
part, and the luxurious and lazy sugar-cane growers of the 
other part. 

" The source of the Mississippi is in a network of innu- 
merably oozy streams, looking something like the two hundred 
miles of alluvium which is watered by its countless mouths. 
By one or other of these streams we may reach waters which 
will carry us to the Great Lakes, or, if we please, far off to 
Hudson's Bay. 

" Above the mouth of the Missouri, the turbid river is 
comparatively clear and limpid, and its course is through an 
extremely varied and beautiful country, full of picturesque 
highlands and fertile valleys, skirted by a shore delightfully 
broken with forest glades and rocky bluffs. Below the Falls 
of St. Anthony, the navigation is but little obstructed except 
by shoals and sandbars. The Missouri past, the river deepens 
and widens; large islands divide the current and spread the 
waters over a breadth of miles. At Point Coupee it takes 



142 THE ROMAjSTCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

a more commanding and majestic aspect, wliicli it tliencefor- 
ward preserves and- heightens. 

" Passing the mouth of the Ohio, in our descent, we see the 
more southern characteristics of the Landscape. The hill shores, 
excepting in an occasional bluff, disappear, and the wide marshes 
and the rich alluvial plains present themselves. Here rises the 
gaunt form of the cypress, lord of the lagunes, and the long 
festoons of the Spanish moss warn the traveller to show proper 
respect to the night air. 

" East of the river, and near the margin, lie long strips of 
rich land, timbered with various species of oak, hickory, sweet 
gum, sassafras, poplar, cotton-wood, willow, maple, sugar-cane, 
palmetto, and other trees, and shrubbery. The shore is broken 
with bayous, giving the appearance, when seen from an elevation, 
of a long, irregular chain of lakelets. These marshes, and th$ 
rich tracts which lie behind them, are succeeded by ranges of 
higher and more diversified ground, where the vegetation of 
the pine family flourishes. 

" The low and marshy character of the country continues, 
with occasional variations, onward to the Gulf of Mexico ; be- 
coming often an inextricable maze of earth and water ; a per- 
fect Babel of wild and rank jungle and morass, and a confused 
interlocking of lagune and bayou. 

"These swamps resemble each other so much that strangers 
sometimes lose themselves in their labyrinthine passages, and 
waste days in vain search for an exit. Sir Charles Lyell 
relates an adventure of a German emigrant in the Devil's 
Swamp, seen from the heights south of Fort Hudson. ' One 
day, after felling some lofty cypresses, he made a false turn 
in his canoe, and, by mistake, entered a neighbouring bayou. 
Every feature was so exactly like the scene where he had 
been toiling for weeks that he could not question the identity 
of the spot. He saw all the same bends, both in the larger 



THE MISSISSIPPI. 143 

and smaller channels ; lie made out distinctly tlie same trees 
— among others, the very individual cypresses which he had 
cut down. There they stood, erect and entire, without retain- 
ing one mark of his axe. He concluded that some evil spirit 
had, in a single night, undone all the labours of many weeks ; 
and, seized with superstitious terror, he fled from the enchanted 
wood, never to return.' 

" The same author to whom I am indebted for this anec- 
dote, tells us of a visit he made to Lake Solitude, one of the 
crescent-shaped bayous formed by old deserted bends of the 
river. There is, he says, in this lake a floating island, well 
wooded, on which a friend of his once landed from a canoe, 
when, to his surprise, it began to sink with his weight. In 
great alarm he climbed a cypress-tree, which also began imme- 
diately to go down with him as fast as he ascended. He 
mounted higher and higher into its boughs, until at length 
it ceased to subside ; and, looking round, he saw, in every 
direction, for a distance of fifty yards, the whole woods in 
motion. Sir Charles, wishing to know what foundation there 
could be for so marvellous a tale, found that, during floods, 
large floating logs had entered the lake by the channel which 
at such times connects it with the main river ; that these logs 
had formed a raft which had become covered with soil, sup- 
porting shrubs and trees. At first, this green island was 
blown from one part of the lake to another by the winds, 
but a cypress springing from the soil had sent down strong 
roots, many yards in length, so as to cast anchor in the muddy 
bottom and thus enable the poor island to settle down in peace 
and quietness. 

" In some portions of this low country, especially near Atta- 
kapas, there are wide tracts of floating lands, called ' quaking 
prairies.' Cattle are pastured here, and you might imagine 
yourself on good terra firma, unless you should happen to 



144 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

dig down for a couple of feet, wlien you would find sea-fisli 
quietly disporting in tlie subterranean waters. 

"The two sliores along tlie lower part of the river are 
of very similar character, excepting that the western is more 
broken with the debouchure of large streams, and less enliv- 
ened by human habitations. Beyond the marshy borders stretch 
alternate plains of grass and woodland — now a forest, and anon 
a boundless prairie— until at last the mountains are again seen. 

" Immense injury is often done to the plantations on the 
Mississippi, through the breaks which occur in the embank- 
ments. Yaluable fields are flooded, and not unfrequently 
entirely destroyed. -The water rushes through such breaches 
with great force, " oftentimes sucking in heavy boats, and carry- 
ing them miles away into dense, swampy jungles, from which 
they do not always succeed in extricating themselves. 

"There is not that same danger in the navigation of the 
Mississippi, as in narrower southern rivers, of coming in collision 
with the branches of overhanging trees, when floods swell the 
current and lift the boat high above the usual level. It is 
a startling sight to see the huge crafts of these waters, while 
sweeping down the rushing torrent, suddenly, in fogs or dark- 
ness come in crashing contact with a forest of sturdy tree-tops. 

"The wrecks of old boats and barges, left high and dry 
by receding floods, are common and picturesque habitations all 
along the Mississippi. In my rambles, I have often rejoiced 
at the shelter and hospitality I have found even in such 
homely quarters. Such occasions have served me also to im- 
prove my acquaintance with that peculiar class of the denizens 
of the great river, the renowned flatboatmen. 

"Passino- by the attractions of the gay metropolis of this 
part of our country, I will set you ashore some few miles 
below the city, on the memorable battle-ground of 1815." 

"With so vast a theme," said Mr. Deepredde, "we could 



WESTERN CHARACTER. 145 

not have refused you treble the time you have occupied. Wq 
often, in jest, speak of our home as a ' great country ;' but 
when we speculate upon the future of this immense valley and 
its tributary regions, the joke becomes most serious earnest. 
The Mississippi is, I believe, the largest and longest stream 
in the world, whose whole course lies within one sovereignty. 
With its vassals, it drains a country of almost a million and 
a half of square miles, which, when peopled even less densely 
than the New England States, will hold a population of a 
hundred million of souls." 

" And a rare population it will be," said Mr. Megilp, " if 
it preserves the honest, earnest, and dauntless traits of the 
parent stock. I do not refer to the national weakness for 
long rifles, quarter races, cards, whiskey, bowie-knives, and re- 
volvers : these fancies are the mere froth of the strong, pure 
spirit beneath, and in due time will be no more seen. The 
moral exterior of the great "West is at present rugged and 
tough as its own bisons, but the soul within is large and 
rich as its great prairies. We laugh at the extravagance of 
expression in the people of the West ; but there is a deep 
moral significance in their lawless hyperbole. It is, in its 
roughness, as indicative of strong action, as the dainty and 
perfumed metaphor of the Orient is expressive of deep feeling 
and fancy. • 

"You may take it for granted that a man who talks to 

you about his using the forks of the road for a boot-jack, won't 

submit to be kicked very patiently ; and he who whips his 

weight in wild cats, and dodges chain lightning, will at least 

try to accomplish what he undertakes. He who has a soul 

as big as a court-house, may very safely be trusted ; and there 

is genuine piety in the breast of the old hunter, who economizes 

time by begging every Sunday morning that Heaven will bless 

'its earthly table bounties and crittur kumforts, throughout the 
10 



146 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAJST LAJSTDSCAPE. 

week !' I like the veteran, wko, when asked if he was not afraid 
of the rattlesnakes, numerous in this vicinity, nonchalantly 
answered, that he generally 'slept over 'em;' and the gallant 
captain, too, who, when racing with an opposition boat, sits on 
the safety valve to keep it down with his weight; or, who, 
when the watch cries out ' man overboard !' asks if he has paid 
his passage, and being answered in the affirmative, sings ' all 
xicr}xt — s:o ahead !' I do not think that such a man, who, 
though he can sail his boat on a wet blanket, or in the morn- 
ing dew, would hesitate to launch out into deep waters!" 

" As Megilp is himself a Western man," said Mr. Blueblack, 
" we must give him elbow-room, even to find a virtue in the 
follies of his brethren. Perhaps he will commend us next to 
the universal predilection of his people for betting and gam- 
bling." 

" In a measure," answered our young Lochinvar, " though 
the vice belongs more to strangers among us, than to ourselves. 
If it is an evil, as abstractly considered it of course is, it is at 
present a necessary evil, necessary by reason of the fermenta- 
tion stage of our society. In its practical results it is not 
without its advantage, just now, saving us as it does from yet 
greater misfortune. Many a dispute is now amicably deter- 
mined by a bet, which would otherwise end in blows, and 
we are so undisguised in the expression of our thoughts, that 
we must dispute; so resolute is our nature, that we must main- 
tain our position; thus, settled it must be, in some way or 
other." 

" Leaving Megilp's logic for farther consideration," said Mr. 
Brownoker, "permit me to add a word here, of fact, not phi- 
losophy. I have, in my travels westward, been often amused 
at the universal love for betting. I have found even children 
of the tenderest years addicted to the practice. A bo}^ no 
sooner gets a sixpence, than he must risk it upon some venture 



WESTERN CHARACTER. 147 

or other. If nothing else offers, he will bet you that he knows 
the ncame of the steamboat approaching from below, or, that 
he can tell which way the wind Avill blow to-morrow, or per- 
chance, next week ; and, it is a common practice for a group 
to sit quietly abound a table, each with a lump of sugar before 
him, the possession of the stake to be given to him on whose 
lump a fly may first happen to alight ! 

*' A friend of mine, once showed me a graphic sketch of 
an old trapper instructing his child in the use of cards. The 
precious pair were seated on a bank in the vicinity of a church, 
the hour, evidently, Sunday morning ; and the name of his 
picture was — ' A "Western Sabbath School I' " 

" All these anecdotes," said Mr. Deeprcdde, " are charac- 
teristic only of a portion, and that the humblest, of the Western 
people. The better classes are as free from such provincial- 
isms, as the most generous education and the most refined as- 
sociations can make them. More especially, the inhabitants of 
the South-west ; the region to which our thoughts to-night must 
be chiefly directed." 

" Suppose," said Mr. Blueblaek, " some gentleman tells us 
a story in further illustration of our subject: some tale touch- 
ing upon plantation life and manners. Now I think of it, I 
have heard Vermeille speak of certain incidents of the sort 
which I should like much to hear again, and more circum- 
stantially." 

Mr. Vermeille, upon this hint, and at the entreaties of the 
whole company, told the following story of 



148 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 



t^lktce |)all 



" I can imagine nothing more grateful, to one who appre- 
ciates the quiet pleasures of social life in a genial domestic 
circle, cast, by its isolation from the great world, upon its own 
willing and sufficient resources, than a leisurely sojourn at the 
home of one of our Southern planters. Especially when your 
host happens to be a man of large wealth, large soul, large 
intelligence, large family, large fields, and large house, as are 
many of the class — as is he, at least, whom we are about to 
visit. 

" If you can sufficiently withstand the enervating influence 
of a Southern sun to make the necessary effort, run — no, stroll, 
we never run, here — to the crown of that sandy knoll, covered 
"with shady pines, and you shall overlook a pleasant bit of 
Southern landscape. The great savannas sweeping far around 
you, their rich many-hued carpetings of grain, and grass, and 
flowers, stirring lightly in the gentle morning breeze, will long 
win your admiring gaze, before it wanders yet further on, 
towards the forests of the sugar-cane, skirting the inextricable 
winding of the great lazy river — the venerable father of waters, 
"What a winsome sentiment of repose and comfort, ease, and 
content, its broad, lawless course, seemingly without beginning 
and without end, brings to the heart; and, how pleasantly this 
feeling is at once heightened and relieved by the bold bluffs 
here and there on the shore, where some rampant eastern range 
of hills abruptly stops, as if suddenly conscious of its trespass 
upon strange and enchanted ground ! Yonder, the fringed 
cypress grows from the moisture of the dark and dank lagunes, 
and, there, among the orange groves and the massy clumps 



MISTLETOE HALL. 149 

of the live-oak, peep the roof and the latticed piazzas of the 
planter's home, with its innumerable surrounding of smaller 
buildings — the cabins of the negroes. So many are their houses, 
that, but for the tropical vegetation and the soft airs, you 
might almost fancy yourself gazing from the top of Mount 
Tom, over the village-studded meadows of the valley of the 
Connecticut. 

" If distance, here, lends enchantment to the view, nearness 
you will find, as you descend from your height and wander 
through the riant plains, increases that enchantment. The 
myriad charming details of the scene will fill your heart not 
less agreeably than the broad general view. The solo of the 
merry bird in yonder myrtle tree, is as sweet as the vague 
murmur of music through the air ; and the snowy-plumed 
cotton-twig, the gallant cane-stalk, the courtly rice plant, the 
broad leaf of the tobacco, the waxen boughs of the orange, 
the myrtle, the magnolia, and the thousand flowers, and vines 
redolent with seductive perfumes, will each, in turn, of itself 
satisfy your thirst for the beautiful. It will surprise you to 
find so much eager life beneath so listless an exterior. 

" Entering the broad avenues of live-oak, which so fre- 
quently make the approach to Southern houses, and at last 
resting your tired limbs on the easy lounges of their piazzas 
and parlours, you will revel still in the same feeling of quiet, 
yet by no means torpid life. 

" The picture upon which we have been looking from the 
sand-hills — the flowery lawns which we have traversed, the 
oak shades, the rambling mansion, and its cosy couches — is 
not a mere idle fancy, but an actual scene, none other than the 
plantation and homestead of Mistletoe Hall, the residence of 
Colonel Hayward, our host elect. 

" You will feel, at once, how very happy is the poetic 
name of the venerable seat, as your eye detects the luxuriant 



150 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

clusters of that impudent squatter, the mistletoe, peeping every- 
where from amongst the autumn-thinned leaves of the numer- 
ous oaks. One of these trees, you will curiously observe, is 
distinguished above all its fellows, not only by its massive size 
and noble form, but by the extraordinary quantity of the 
famous Christmas bough, to which its generous life gives nou- 
rishment ; and which, in grateful return, drapes it, Avhen its 
own leaves pass with the passing season, in a new and richer 
garniture of green; thus making the old tree an oak for half 
the year, and a mistletoe for the rest. There is an old custom 
in the family here, one in which the Colonel delights no less 
than the youngest of his tribe, of semi-annually re-christening 
this old fellow — in the spring with one baptismal, and in the 
autumn with the other ; now ' the oak,' now ' the mistletoe.' 
This pleasant ceremony is always performed with every proper 
holiday accompaniment of the mazy dance and other merry 
making. 

" Now, then — for, despite the early morning and the breeze, 
you have walked far enough to make rest welcome — we will 
enter the mansion, especially since that little ebony troop of 
-laughing urchins have already announced our approach, and 
the worthy Colonel himself has come forth upon the piazza 
to welcome us. Of course, we will revise our toilettes, and, 
as the Colonel begs us to do, sit down, without ceremony, 
at his hospitable table. Ah, what an abundant repast, to be 
sure, is spread upon the board; and with what rational leisure 
the good folks are discussing it! The peacock fans of the 
little black waiters make the temperature as grateful as the 
broad shadow of the rose-covered porch. We are at home 
at once, and feel quite as much at liberty to think and act 
as we please, as if we were in our own house. So, while we 
eat our eggs and hominy, we will take a quiet survey of 
our host and our fellow-guests. 



MISTLETOE HALL. 151 

"The Colonel — where he gets his title we do not know; 
such things are as plentiful here as ' something to drink ' — 
the Colonel is in all respects a fine specimen of the Southern 
gentleman. His gallant person — he is still in the blossom of 
strong manhood — has been developed by habitual indulgence 
in out-of-door exercise and all manly sports ; and his acute 
mind has been cultured and catholicized by liberal studies, 
and by observant travel in all lands and among all people ; 
while his generous heart has been warmed and expanded, not 
chilled and narrowed, by the possession of wealth and power. 
His wide and absolute authority he wields, even over the 
humblest of his slaves, more as a kind father than as a des- 
potic lord. The native fire of his character has been tempered, 
not extinguished, by sorrowful experiences of life : among these 
griefs is, no doubt, the loss of his wife — the Colonel is a 
widower — whom he devotedly loved ; while another of these 
gentle softeners of the heart is his boundless affection for his 
daughter, the pride of his soul. And well, indeed, may he 
be proud of her ; for a more beautiful creature, even among 
the queenly maidens of the South, it would be rare to find 
than Clara Hayward. 

" Deprived of a mother's care, even in infancy ; petted and 
indulged by her fond father ; the sovereign mistress of a thou- 
sand submissive hearts ; flattered, as beauty and wealth always 
are, by every voice they hear ; Clara might have grown up 
a spoiled, heartless, vain, imperious woman, without any blame 
to herself. "Whether these very reasonable results from such 
a dangerous position followed, in the present instance, we shall 
see in the development of our story. Certainly, nothing but 
what is lovely and of good report appears in her gracious 
greeting to our intrusive selves, as we sit down to breakfast ; 
or in her kindly manner towards any of her numerous guests ; 
or toAvards the slaves, who seem so happy to anticipate and 



152 THE KOMANCE OF AMERICAZST LANDSCAPE. 

perform her will. She treats all, and the characters are various, 
with graceful and considerate attention and care. 

" If she has a feeling of dislike for any one, she seeks, 
and successfully, to conquer it, as beneath the dignity of her 
nature. 

" Thus, in the impartial share of her regard which she 
bestows upon Madam Bernard, the bold, handsome French 
woman by her side, you cannot suspect the little quantum 
of love and sympathy which she really feels for her. Madam 
is, or rather has been, her governess. She has taught much 
which Clara has well and gratefully learned ; and much, too, 
which she has wisely used as a beacon, instead of a guide, to 
her steps. 

" With what becoming grace, and yet with what womanly 
propriety, she listens to the flattering tattle of that supercilious 
young patrician, Lieutenant Hutton. She is by no means blind 
to the real poverty, mental and moral, beneath his smooth 
coat of virtue and wisdom ; and she has wit enough to sound 
this shallowness of his, were she not too proud or too kind 
to use it. Tlie Lieutenant is one of those lucky gentlemen 
'known, because his fathers were,' and possessing, besides, 
with the pass-key of fortune, the entree of 'society.' He has 
used these advantages now, in a long visit to our host, avow- 
edly attracted by the graces of the fair hostess. His horoscope 
is not promising. 

"Long association, and long relationship, as teacher and 
pupil, may exact a certain degree of respect and deference 
from Clara to Madam Bernard : as the social position and not 
unpleasing manners of the young Lieutenant may naturally 
give him a claim to her cordial courtesy. But none of these 
demands upon her consideration are made by the last of our 
characters, who is neither a Colonel nor a Lieutenant ; who has 
neither family nor fortunS to commend him, and who is not 



MISTLETOE HALL. 153 

^ even a privileged dependant, but simply a poor, unknown stu- 
dent, who, through the Colonel, has been prevailed upon to 
leave his college halls in New England, to earn means bj the 
toil of a tutor to pursue and complete his preparation for the 
struggle of life. And yet Clara is, if possible, more regardful 
of the humble student than of others, though not with the 
galling kindness of the patroness, for he is not one to be 
patronized. The Colonel, who, though not free from the pre- 
judice and pride of caste, is a wise and just man, sees and 
acknowledges the worth of his modest guest, and meets him 
on an equal footing of gentleman with gentleman. Madam 
Bernard's respect for the tutor is not extreme; and she would 
not, if she dared, hesitate to say so. As to the Lieutenant, 
he has not, thus far, deigned to recognize the stranger's exist- 
ence, who, to tell the truth, has himself wasted no reverence 
hi admiration on the Lieutenant. 

"The tutor, himself, is perfectly at his ease; and, though 
modest enough in his demeanour, has the self-assured bearing 
of a man certain of his position, and perfectly satisfied of its 
dignity. To the Colonel's eye, this simple manner is an evi- 
dence of a strong, manly character; to Madam Bernard's, of 
mixed servility and arrogance; to the Lieutenant's, as far as 
he has observed it, of unbearable impertinence; to Clara's, of 
a gentleman, with more esteem for his own honourable self 
than for the adventitious apparrelling of rank and fortune. 

" I do not mean to say that Miss Clara is waiting to throw 
her hand and heart at the tutor's feet, for she is not without 
both pride and ambition ; or, that the Colonel would approve 
of such Quixotic generosity, for he has his ideas of propriety 
in such matters, despite his respect for the stranger. Besides, 
such a thing could not be, since it would kill the Lieutenant 
outright, with astonishment, if a broken heart should yet leave 
him alive. Moreover, Clara's hand, not counting the suit of 



154 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

the Lieutenant, is already engaged. Don't understand me to 
say that my heroine would give her hand, any where, without 
her heart. By no means! Her position is simply this: Colonel 
Hayward has a friend in Virginia, the widow of an old college 
crony, who has an only son, as the Colonel . himself has an 
only daughter ; and it has ever been a favourite project of 
the heads of the two families, to cement their interests by a 
union between this son and this daughter; to say nothing of 
a whispered penchant between the 'heads' themselves, which, 
it is thought, may come, to something, if the first plan shall 
prove successful. It will be nice if both the schemes prosper, 
for Mrs. Danville and her son Mark possess large estates, con- 
tiguous to the Colonel's domain, and the Colonel could keep 
a much better eye than he even now does upon these estates, 
were they ' all in the family.' 

"You may ask what Miss Clara and 'young massa Mark' 
say to this arbitrary disposition. The truth is, the arrange- 
ment has been always seduously kept from their knowledge, 
but somehow they have both got at the secret, until it is, at 
this moment, openly and often spoken of, and that, too, as a 
fixed fact. 

" The young people, to this day, know nothing of each 
other, excepting by report ; and, though they say nothing- 
Clara at least, and no doubt Master Mark as well — they are 
inwardly resolved to dislike, in the precise ratio in which 
they are expected to like, each other." 



Here Mr. Yermeille was interrupted in his narrative by 
the chairman, who, looking regretfully at his watch, reminded 
our guests of an engagement, which made it necessary to defer 
the rest of the tale until another reunion. 

More than one desire was expressed to cheat old Time of 



MISTLETOE HALL. I55 

a few more minutes, but thej were all overruled, and tlie 
Jiistorian himself said that lie should be glad of a reprieve. 

In our next chapter then, good reader, we shall see what 
further happens at Mistletoe Hall. 



r"""i"'^''i!iii 




CHAPTER VIIL 

"While unfolding my panorama of the Mississippi at our 
last reunion," said Mr, Asplialtum, "I oddly enougli forgot to 
speak of that remarkable feature in the scenery of the river 
the renowned Tower Eock, or Grand Tower, as it is otherwise 
called. To neglect all reference to this interesting object, would 
be unpardonable in any circumstances, and doubly so, when, 
as I find that it does, it makes the theme of one of our pic- 
tures, 

" Though I know that you are impatient to hear the sequel 
of Mr, Yermeille's nouvellette, I must beg a few minutes to 
atone for my sins of omission. 

" The Grand Tower is a singular, rocky bluff of about fifty 
feet elevation. It stands near the village of Cape Girardeau 
and is a short distance, say a hundred miles — a step only, you 
know, on the great river — below the mouth of the Missouri. 
The hills on both sides of the stream seem to converge in this 
vicinage ; and from the appearance of other huge mural frag- 
ments, it is supposed that a cataract once existed here. In 
form the Great Eock is nearly circular, bearing a few stunted 
cedars upon its crown. Of course, a change in the point of 



158 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

observation varies the aspect of the scene greatly; and most 
visitors will view it very differently from our artist. Perched 
upon its lofty heights, I have often gazed in delight upon the 
extraordinary picture before my wondering eyes. The mazy 
windings of the giant floods, sometimes in their magnificent 
detours, traversing miles upon miles without perceptible ad- 
vance, the huge steamers sweeping on in their rapid and noisy 
flight, the lazy progress of the floating rafts and the uncouth 
flat-boats; and, reaching far away in the interminable distance, 
the rank forests and the silent prairies." 

After this mention of Tower Rock and sundry other rem- 
iniscences which the subject called up, but which we shall not 
pause to record, our guests prepared themselves to hear the 
conclusion of the tale of 



Histkttte iall 

" Many weeks have passed since our introduction to Colonel 
Hayward's family," said Mr. Yermeille, resuming his narrative, 
"weeks not barren of incident, claiming our attention. One 
of these items is the non-appearance of Mr. Mark Danville, 
much to the surprise of everybody, and to the disappointment, 
at least, of one. Not Clara, for she, we shall find, has grown 
every day less and less interested in the doings of the expected 
visitor ; not the Lieutenant, for he can live and be happy 
without him; not Madam Bernard, for she has nothing either 
to hope or fear in his coming; not the tutor, since Mr. Dan- 
ville's absence rather furthers his views than otherwise; but 
the Colonel — the worthy Colonel, is grievously vexed at the 
little respect which Mr. Mark shows toward himself and his 
daughter. He begins to fear that his long-cherished plans will 



MISTLETOE HALL. 159 

after all end in nothing. He is greatly disappointed, and sorely 
chagrined. He begins to dislike the ungracious Mark, and he 
thinks, too, with a sigh of that proposed tie between himself 
and Madam Danville, which must fail with the failure of his 
other hope. Besides these thoughts, there are other, very 
natural, though less worthy ideas, annoying the Colonel's brain. 
He is thinking of heavy pecuniary losses which he has had 
to struggle against for some time past, and particularly, within 
the last few weeks; the repeated failure of crops for several 
years, and more lately, sickness and death among his servants, 
and injury to his estate by rains and freshets ; an accumulation 
of losses which are beginning seriously to embarrass him, and 
which make him regret the withdrawal of the relief which 
Clara's marriage with Mark, no less than his own with Mrs. 
Danville, would have brought him. 

"Neither the Lieutenant nor Madam Bernard have much 
sympathy for the Colonel's sorrows, despite their show of 
interest. Indeed, we cannot expect that Hutton, being himself 
an aspirant for Clara's hand, should be over and above eao-er 
to meet so formidable a rival as Mr. Mark. 

"The tutor has gradually grown to be a man of weight 
and influence in the daily, social drama, having won for him- 
self much consideration, of a differing sort, from all the mem- 
bers of the household. • 

"The regard with which Clara treats him seems to be that 
which he the most highly prizes. However that may be, it is, 
clearly enough, more than reciprocated. In his hours of leisure 
he is ever by her side, as they sit together in the shade 
of the perfumed vines, sipping the sparkling current of some 
'antique rhyme;' or, as they stroll in hght or ' idyl-thoughted ' 
converse through the oak and orange groves, in the merry 
morning or the dreamy eventide. Even when occapied with 
his pupils, Clara is still often near him, finding charms in 



160 THE KOMAKCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

Yirgil ^\-bicli Madam Bernard never showed her in the pages 
of Tasso or Eacine. Indeed, she seemed to be herself his 
chief, certainly his favourite, pupil. 'How pleasant,' his thought 
appears to say at such moments, ' the of&ce of the tutor, when 
the student comes with intelligence and sympathy to the task;' 
' and how delightful,' says she, ' the labour of the pupil, when 
the teacher bears her up on the soaring wings of his own 
enthusiasm.' It is not strange that our scholar should thus 
yield to the fascinations which he finds in the strong and 
beautiful character of his fair hostess, or that she should be 
attracted by a nature so much deeper and richer than she has 
been accustomed to meet, and so sympathetic with her own. 
Their intercourse, in its simple unreserve, seems to be more 
that of brother and sister than of lovers. There can be no 
confessed passion in their young hearts, or dark thoughts of 
the future would sometimes overcloud the unbroken sunshine 
of the present hour. Their heedless steps would now and 
then halt, in doubt or fear, on the now unseen brink of that 
deep social gulf which lies between them, and which neither 
could overleap without a sacrifice of much pride and preju- 
dice. 

" The Colonel sees that his child is happy in the society 
of his young friend, and he is content, never dreaming that 
their mutual interest may pass the convenient bounds of friend- 
ship; or, if he has at moments such thoughts, burying them 
far out of his sight in. the shadow of that inexorable gulf 
into which we have but just now looked. The Lieutenant, 
too, is not unobservant of the path in which the careless pair 
are strolling, and he is not so blind as the Colonel in regard 
to its course: but he sees, yet more distinctly than he, the 
obstructing precipice; and he, too, is, in a measure, content — 
more than content, indeed — for, little understanding Clara's high 
nature, he inwardly derides the idea of a rival in the poor 



MISTLETOE HALL. 161 

tutor, while he thinks to turn his presumption and Clara's 
indulgence to the furtherance of his own hopes, widening by 
their help the misunderstanding which already seems to have 
been formed between her and the only obstacle he sees in his 
way — Mr. Mark Danville. 

"Still, the undisguised preference which Clara shows for the 
tutor's society over his own, is a bitter mortification to the 
pride of the Lieutenant — a mortification which, every passing 
day, is in many little ways so sorely deepening, that there is 
growing up in his soul a feeling of revengeful hatred which, 
much as it is his cue to do, he can scarcely all conceal. 

" This dislike is only increased by the lamentable issue of 
the few manifestations of it, which, despite himself, he is con- 
strained to make. Every hour and every incident teaches him 
greater hate and higher respect for the student — teaches him 
more and more how much he has under-estimated the strength, 
and how much he may have to fear in the rivalry, of his 
despised foe. He finds himself surpassed by the niodest tutor, 
not alone in accomplishments which he affects to despise, but 
in all those gentlemanly graces in which he deems himself 
without a peer. He might forgive the student for writing 
songs, but it is a mortal offence to sing them as he does. He 
would permit him to walk, but not to ride by Clara's side, 
with so much careless ease: to adrnire the beauty of the flying 
deer is pardonable, but to arrest that flight with an aim more 
certain than his own is insufferable! What business has the 
man of lexicons and grammars with these arts of the idle 
gentleman ? 

" Clara does not fail to perceive the vexation of her guest 
at the ever new exhibition of gifts, which surprise her scarcely 
less than him; for she, too, is still advancing in her knowl- 
edge of the tutor's varied accomphshments, though with more 

satisfaction than the Lieutenant. It amuses her to watch the 
11 



162 THE ROMAKCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

struggle between these opposing powers: to witness the imper- 
tinent sneers of the one withered by the cool sarcasm of the 
other. 

"She shares the student's playful malice, as, when Hutton 
rudely intrudes upon their tete-a-tetes, he leads the conversation 
into fields far beyond his pursuit or sight. 

"Such a scene is now passing, and the tutor is brought 
back from his metaphysical flight by the entrance of one of 
his pupils in search of light upon some dark problem in his 
algebra. As the lad withdraws, the Lieutenant sneeringly in- 
quires if the tutor uses the birch in his school discipline. 

" ' Most assuredly, sir, when it happens to be needed.' 

" ' On the little boys, I suppose,' continues the Lieutenant. 

"'Or the great boobies!' answers the tutor, with a quiet 
but significant smile. 

"'You see,' says Clara, laughing, 'what a sad martinet our 
friend is, Mr. Hutton! How fortunate you ought to esteem 
yourself in not being one of his unhappy scholars !' 

" Now the Colonel's family are assisting in the gaieties of 
a ball at the residence of a neighbouring planter. ' Here,' 
thinks the Lieutenant, as he approaches Clara to solicit her 
hand for a waltz, 'here, at least, I am secure from the impu- 
dence of that infernal pedagogue! His legs are too much 
cramped beneath his desk to figure in the dance !' But, alas ! 
alas for the gallant soldier's vain dreams, the inexorable tutor 
has already cast his arm around the fair girl, and is whirling 
her through the hall, to the admiration and marvel of every- 
body but the Lieutenant himself He turns on his heel in 
disgust and through the rest of the evening ' doesn't dawnce !' 

"It is one of the brightest of bright sunny mornings, and 
the party, Madam Bernard and the Lieutenant, Clara and the 
tutor, are starting for a ride. Hutton has distributed the horses 
among the cavaliers, and the tutor is about to mount, when 



MISTLETOE HALL. 163 

Clara protests against his venturing upon the back of the most 
unmanageable creature in her father's stables. 

" ' HoAV could you think of giving any one such an animal, 
Mr. Hutton ?' she asks, half angrily. 

"'Oh!' says the Lieutenant, with a sneering, laugh, 'I sujd- 
posed that Mr, Lawson was bold and skilful enough to tame 
a bison if it so pleased him. But, of course I will find a gen- 
tler nag for him, if he is afraid !' 

'' ' Xot at all,' cries the student, as he springs gracefully 
into the saddle. ' You have hit my fancy exactly, Mr. Hut- 
ton ; I've noticed this fiery fellow often, and thought that I 
should like to try his mettle. I ' 

" But yonder fly horse and rider, helter-skelter over bush 
and break, while the ladies look after them pale with fear. 
Which of the unyielding spirits shall conquer? For a while 
the question is a painfully exciting one ; but, at last, it is an- 
swered, and Clara laughs at once in derision of the Lieutenant 
and in welcome of the tutor, as he returns with his foaming 
but conquered steed. 

" Not quite subdued though, for as he draws near he makes 
a sudden plunge, frightening the Lieutenant's horse and dash- 
ing the rider from his carelessly held seat, 

" This, however, is his last caper ; and Mr. Lawson, as he 
leaps to the ground, with proffers of aid to the unhorsed gen- 
tleman, makes a world of apologies for his unpardonable awk- 
wardness, which he assures him cannot possibly happen again, 
as he has now got the perverse animal entirely under his 
control ! 

" The party, remounted, now move on, while the tutor is 
patting his trembling horse, and still condemning his own 
want of skill, which led to the late little misadventure; while 
the Lieutenant is trying to swallow his double mortification 
as best he can ; and while Madam Bernard, scarcely less than 



164 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

Clara, is vainly striving to hide a laughing face with a deco- 
rous veil of gravity. 

"But let us see how our young hero gets along with the 
Colonel ; see if his character and his versatile accomplishments 
have made him a personage of as much importance and influ- 
ence with the host, as with the daughter and the guests. So 
it certainly seems to be, judging from the long and animated 
dialogues they so frequently hold together — from the earnest 
conversation now going on between them, as they stroll yonder 
over the narrow dikes of the rice-fields. 

" The Colonel admires the gifts of the scholar and the 
graces of the gentleman, and these attractions have not failed 
to draw him toward our hero, but certain other merits, which 
neither Clara nor the Lieutenant have observed, have yet more 
won his confidence. The Colonel has found in his tutor an 
unlooked-for, and most welcome sympathy, in his views and 
habits of life, and a strange knowledge and interest, practical, 
no less than theoretical, in all his business occupations. He 
has found him thoughtful and just in his views of the social 
and political condition and prospects of his cherished home; 
and as judiciously learned in the whole subject of his agricul- 
tural operations, as though he had spent his life in such studies. 
Thus it is not surprising that the Colonel has given the tutor 
his esteem and confidence, even so far as to seek his sympathy 
and counsel in the difiiculties in vrhich, as we have hinted, 
his pecuniary embarrassments were involving him. It is such 
confidences that have elicited the dialogue in which they are 
at this moment engaged. Let us see what it is all about. 

"'And so,' says the student, thoughtfully, 'you have had 
recourse to the assistance of Mr. Hutton, which he has urged 
upon your acceptance ?' 

" ' With all the generous warmth of a true friend. He 
has his faults, my dear sir, no doubt. But he is interested in 




JIJlilliliiliiililIlilllllllliilW:i!»'''''''i^^ 



MISTLETOE HALL. 165 

my fortunes, even at the expense of his own. I owe this 
somewhat, of course, to his love for my daughter, which you 
cannot have failed to observe ; though, poor fellow, there is 
but little hope for him. Clara does not fancy him much.' 

" ' And he holds your notes, at sight, too, for all these 
heavy sums?' persisted Mr. Lawson, as though turning a tough 
problem over in his perplexed thoughts. 'Have you no fear 
of his some day troubling you with them ?' 

" ' Oh, dear, no ! not the least. You wrong him. He is not 
that sort of man at all. It is a mere matter of form between 
us — the notes. With prosperous crops, I shall be at ease again 
in another year, and if not — why — it will only increase my 
obligation, which will be a pleasure, more than a disappoint- 
ment to him.' 

"So the tutor seemed to think, but he says, 'Perhaps there 
is no danger; but why, if you will permit me to ask, have 
you not rather called upon your dearer friends, of whom I 
have heard so much, the Danvilles?' 

" ' I thank you for the spirit which prompts your question, 
but I must beg that you will not again allude to such a 
thought. Once, indeed, it might have been different, but now, 
they are the last to whom I would turn. They, who the mo- 
ment adversity comes upon me, desert me!' 
" ' Desert you ?' • 

•' ' Yes : what is it, but my failing fortunes, which keeps 
the young Danville from hastening to fulfil the contract be- 
tween our families, or, at least, of making the visit he promised 
us?' 

" ' Your troubles make you unjust, my dear Colonel. This 
cannot be — there may be many reasons.' ' 

" ' Not so ! Lieutenant Hutton ' 

" ' The Lieutenant again ! ' 



\t ' 



166 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

" ' Has more than once hinted as much, and he corresponds 
with young Mark, though he has never met him.' 

" ' Yes, I know,' said the tutor, with a smile, quite incom- 
prehensible to the good Colonel. 
" ' How should jou know ?' 

" ' Pardon me, no matter — and so Mr. Hutton thinks that 
Mrs. Danville and her son shun you on account of your mis- 
fortunes? Where have they obtained their information?' 

" ' That I cannot imagine, unless it be through your friend, 
their overseer. This seems to be Hutton's idea.' . 

" ' I think he is mistaken. However, such intelligence tra- 
vels on the air without visible carriers.' 

" ' It has reached their ears at any rate, and the Lieutenant 
has half hinted to me, that young Dan^-ille has said that I am 
seeking to pass a dowerless bride upon him as an heiress! 
You will not wonder now, why I do not ask aid from the 
Danvilles.' 

" ' This is growing serious,' said Mr. Lawson, as he knit 
his brows and clenched his hands angrily, ' and the scoundrel 
shall pay for it!' 

" ' Nay, nay, my friend : I do not know why I have told 
you all this, but I do know, that I cannot suffer you to share 
my quarrel with Danville, should you happen to meet.' 

" ' Danville ! Oh, you mistake ! It is not he of whom I 
am thinking.' 

'• ' My only consolation,' continues the Colonel, not notic- 
ing the musing air of his companion, 'is in the love of my 
daughter, who does not know, as I trust she never will know, 

aught of these things, and in the counsel and sympathy of ' 

" ' Your humble friend.' 

" ' That is much to me,' says the Colonel, warmly pressing 
the tutor's hand, 'but I referred to Madam Bernard.' 



MISTLETOE HALL. 167 

" ' Ah, Madam Bernard ! and does she think of the Dan- 
villes as the Lieutenant does?' 

" ' On the contrary, she hopes that he is wrong.' 

'"Ah! she ho]}es P 

'"I do not understand your incredulous manner,' says the 
Colonel, with an inquiring look. 

" ' Pardon me, dear sir, if I allude to matters of a delicate 
nature. Have I not heard that you may, possibly, give your 
hand to Mrs. Danville, should your daughter wed her son?' 

" ' Such, indeed, was once my thought' 

'"And, never, while Miss Hay ward shall remain unmarried?' 

" ' Never ! that I have vowed.' 

" ' And would Madam Bernard rejoice to see your hopes 
fulfilled? Would there be no personal disappointment? 
Would ' 

'"No more, my dear friend, in this vein. If, as you hint. 
Madam Bernard has so much honoured me, she will not seek 
the accomplishment of her wishes by any false means. If she 
would, she would second, not contradict, the suspicions of the 
Lieutenant.' 

" ' Well, well, my dear Colonel. I have nothing ungallant 
to say of Madam, whom, indeed, I know only as a very 
agreeable woman; but I warn you against Lieutenant Hutton. 
I cannot think him so much your friend as he would seem !' 

" ' You are prejudiced — ^unjustly jDrejudiced.' 

" ' So, indeed, I may be, so I hope I am ;' says the tutor, 
suddenly remembering that any censure of Hutton, from his 
lips, may be placed to wrong motives; 'so I hope I am;' and 
here, where the road forks, he bids adieu to the Colonel, say- 
ing to himself as he walks away : — 

" ' Well, well ! this is a pretty mess I am brewing ; but I 
must even let it ferment, that I may see what spirits, good 
and bad, come from it I But of a certainty this Lieutenant is 



168 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

a precious villain ; and I would not swear that Madam is 
immaculate. Neither of them will, I fear, come out of the 
trial unscathed. But Clara ! she, at least, is all truth and 
goodness ! Even should she not love the poor tutor enough 
to sacrifice for him all the pride and vanity she would sur- 
render with her hand, yet will I, at least, save her from that 
scoundrel Hutton ! He shall be unmasked, before I leave 
him !' 

" Thus musing, he wanders on towards the house of Mr. 
Granger, the overseer of the Danville estates. He does not 
proceed far, before his ear catches the sound of familiar voices, 
coming, as it seems to him, from the recesses of a jasmine 
arbour near by. Thinking himself at liberty, under the cir- 
cumstances, to play even the doubtful part of spy, he cautiously 
approaches the bower, and quietly putting aside the branches, 
is not surprised to see the Lieutenant and Clara's favourite 
maid, Pricilla, or 'Cilia, as she is generally called. He is 
curious to learn the purport of this conference, and well 
screened as he is by the thick leafage, no less than by the 
growing dusk of evening, he ventures to pause a moment 
and listen. The Lieutenant is speaking with impatient and 
vexed voice. 

" ' So, so, then ! in ridding ourselves of this impudent 
young sultan, who fancies that he has but to come and throw 
down his imperial handkerchief when he pleases, to set the 
world in a struggle as to who shall have the honour of pick- 
ing it up — in getting rid, I say, of Danville, we have but fallen 
into another difficulty!' 

" ' And a much, greater one, too, let me tell you,' says 
'Cilia. 'Miss doesn't care a picayune.for Massa Danville, and 
wouldn't have had him if he had asked her ever so sweet 1' 

" ' And you think that she loves this itinerant pedagogue — 
this Mr. Lawson ! bah ! you're a fool I' 



MISTLETOE HALL. 169 

"'Maybe, I am,' says tlie girl, witb. a sneering laugli — 
' as I was when I listened to your fine talk !' 

" ' Pooh ! don't vex me ! What makes you think so, you 
little fool ?' 

"'Why, are they not always together? Do they not ride, 
read, sing, walk, talk together, all day long, from morning till 
night ?' 

" ' Oh, that is only to spite me ! She is too proud ever 
to think of marrying such a fellow !' 

" ' Spite you, indeed ! Mighty little, to be sure, she thinks 
of you ! And it is to spite you, I suppose, that she is always 
thinking of him, and talking about him in her sleep. Too 
proud ! Yes, she is too proud not to please herself, whatever 
you or anybody else may say or think. So proud is Miss 
Clara, that she would marry the man she loves, though all 
the world should laugh at her, and though she had to work 
with her own white hands, hard as any nigger on the planta- 
tion.' 

"'Umph,' says the Lieutenant to himself; 'that's not much! 
Kone of the knaves hurt themselves with labour! I should 
like to see them turned free for a while in the streets of Phila- 
delphia or Boston, where, I warrant, they would earn more 
kicks than coppers.' Then, turning again to the girl, — 

" ' Have you done as I told you, and been seen with him 
often ?' 

" ' Yes, I have.' 

" ' And does she suspect ?' 

" ' 0, ho ! that's it, aye ? That's why you wanted me to 
run after Master Lawson so much! I thought there was some 
mischief or other at the bottom of the mystery!' says 'Cilia, 
laughing outright at the new idea which possesses her. 'So 
you want to make her jealous ? Miss Clara jealous of 'Cilia ! 
he, he, he !' * 



170 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

" ' Stop your folly !' cries Hutton, striking the girl in his 
fury, so that she screams with pain, 

" 'You kill me, you brute ! — kill me, when you should love 
me best !' 

" ' It is not I who have loved you too well ! Do you 
understand, girl? It will be bad for you, let me tell you, 
if you do not!' 

"As the poor girl's eyes gleam with resentful passion the 
man tempers his anger, and tries to speak in a gentler tone : 
to win her, when something tells him it will not be quite 
safe to command. This new tone is more successful, for she 
seems still to love, while she half despises, her unfeeling be- 
trayer. As the tryst seems to be ending, when 'Cilia reluctantly 
promises to do his bidding, the tutor makes a hasty but cautious 
retreat, and continues his walk towards the overseer's. 

" For a while his thoughts are wholly and happily occupied 
with the grateful proofs which 'Cilia's words have given him 
of Clara's love, and his fancy runs through a thousand gay 
imaginings. But a graver spirit seizes him, and he mutters 
as he walks — 

" ' Things are indeed taking a serious aspect ! I may be 
able to refute the calumnies against Danville, but as to the 
poor, friendless tutor, that is another affair. I must look to 
this girl ! She evidently still loves this scoundrel, despite his 
cruel treatment of her ; but it is as clear, too, that she is not 
wholly depraved, and may, be used to punish, instead of to aid, 
his villainy. What will come nest, I wonder I Truly I am 
getting to be a veritable Asmodeus, peeping into the hidden 
secrets of this family, so quiet to all outward appearance, and 
yet so turbulent within !' 

" His soliloquy is now interrupted by the sound of approach- 
ing steps, and, looking up, he meets the eye of Mr. Granger, 
the Danville overseer, the very man of whom he is in quest. 



MISTLETOE HALL. 171 

"They talk together, long and gravely, but in a voice too 
low for our ears, even did it concern us to know the nature 
of their communications. As they are about to separate, the 
tutor still detains his friend, to tell him of the colloquy under 
the jasmine vines. 

"'Umph!' says the overseer; 'this is very bad! We must 
be careful, or we shall get into a snarl from which it will 
be rather difficult to extricate ourselves. Indeed, I am half 
sorry that we have ventured at all in the ' 

" ' No fear, my good friend !' says the tutor gaily. ' All 
will end well !' 

'"Yes, there is great fear! "What if you should lose the 
confidence of the Colonel ! Then Hutton's influence will be 
without a check, and others besides yourself may suffer.' 

'"That is very true; but, at the worst, I can tell him all!' 

" ' Too late, perhaps !' 

" ' Too soon, at present, anyhow,' says the tutor hopefully. 

" ' But be cautious,' urges the doubting overseer ; ' you have 
wily and unscrupulous foes to deal with.' 

"'What, 'Cilia?' 

""Cilia! pooh! Hutton and the governess!' 

" ' You are persuaded, then, that Madam Bernard is con 
cerned in the matter?' 

" ' Certainly ! Does she not seek the hand of the Colonel, 
and will she not be glad of any means to break oif, or to 
delay the affair with Mrs. Danville?' 

" ' True ; but not that with the son, poor Mark. On the 
contrary, it is her cue to dispose of Miss Clara to somebody, 
since it is well known that the Colonel will never marry 
before his daughter.' 

" ' Of course. But that somebody is neither Danville nor 
yourself The Lieutenant has a plan, you remember ; and if 
he serves Madam, Madam must, in return, serve him. But mv 




>iiillliliiiliiiiliiiiijiiiiiiiiiiiiii!iiiiiiia 



MISTLETOE HALL. 173 

from the scene. He is called away abruptly by intelligence 
of tlie serious illness of liis mother. In his filial anxiety every 
thing else is forgotten, and waiting only for the opportunity 
of a private interview with Clara, and Mr, Granger the overseer, 
he takes the earliest boat down the river to New Orleans. 

" His parting with the Colonel is so cordial as to allay any 
apprehensions which his interview with the overseer may have 
raised, though he does not quite understand the looks of in- 
telligence which pass between his host and Clara and the 
Lieutenant, as he makes his adieus with a kind word for each 
— to the numerous servants who gather around him, and par 
ticularly as he takes leave of 'Cilia, who seems much more 
affected than the occasion demands. 

" His host and the Lieutenant accompany him to the land- 
ing ; and as the boat moves off, a heavy weight seems to move 
from Hutton's heart, and he breathes more freely, as a smile 
of satisfaction crosses his lips. 

" ' You will, I doubt not,' says the Lieutenant, as they 
ride quietly homewards, ' soon see more than one good cause 
to congratulate yourself upon having got rid of the school- 
master. You observed how much the negroes seemed to like 
him as he bade them good-bye, and his familiarity with them. 
Indeed, he has always had a good deal more to say to them 
than he ought ; and then, you know how freely he has often 
spoken about the evils of our slave system.' 

" ' That is true. But it has been of such evils as we shall 
do well to remedy ; such evils as I see and condemn myself. 
He is sound enough in cardinal points.' 

" ' Of course, he would be a fool not to appear to be so ; 
but now that he is gone, I will tell you of some matters that, 
out of kindness to him — for I rather like some things about 
the fellow — I have thus far hesitated to reveal. I may be 
wrong in not speaking to you on the subject before, but I 



174 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

did not wisli to bring him into trouble unnecessarily, even if 
he is really to blame, as, after all, he may not be.' 

" Why, "what new phantom frightens you, my dear boy ?' 

" ' No phantom. Colonel, or a very dangerous one. It is 
nothing less than a suspicion I have long had, that your re- 
spected tutor's residence here has been of no good to your 
servants.' 

" ' "Why ?' says the Colonel, in surprise. ' You have not 
found any real grounds for your absurd fancy that he is an 
abolitionist ?' 

" ' Nothing more,' says the Lieutenant, quietly, ' than his 
questionable familiarity with the negroes, and certain anti- 
slavery tracts which 'Cnia tells me she has seen in his room, 
and which I myself have found in the cabins of some of those 
who are able to read them.' 

" ' Indeed : but this is a very serious charge, and I am 
surprised that your mistaken kindness should have led you to 
keep it so long to yourself But, you must be wrong. If 
your other idea, that . he has been bold enough to aspire to 
my daughter's hand, be true, he could not at the same time 
seek to ruin me !' 

" ' 0, you do not know to what absurd lengths the fanati- 
cism of these people will carry them.' 

" ' And, Granger ! He and the tutor are strangely inti- 
mate! Surely, you do not think that he is concerned in any 
thingc of the kind !' 

" ' I have thought much of that, but I do not know what 
to make of it. But, perhaps,' continues the Lieutenant, laugh- 
ing, as a new fancy comes up, ' perhaps it is only an ingenious 
plot of theirs to injure me.' 

" ' Injure you ! How ?' 

" ' Why, by making me seem the offender ! You may 
lauo;h at such an idea, but now that Lawson no longer fears 



MISTLETOE HALL. 175 

the rivalry of Mr. Danville, he would not stop at any means 
to get rid of me.' 

" The Colonel seems to enjoy this thought of the Lieu- 
tenant's as a capital joke, and the Lieutenant himself finds it 
droll enough, as they continue to discuss it, until they again 
reach the hall. 

"Little dreaming of the daring machinations against him, 
upon which Hutton had ventured under the security of his 
absence, our hero is equally astonished and exasperated, when 
a letter from Mr. Granger informs him of the new turn in 
affairs that followed the dialogue, which I have repeated, 
between the Colonel and the Lieutenant, as they were return- 
ing from the landing on the day of the tutor's departure. The 
overseer's communication informs his correspondent, not only 
of the strange suspicions against him, but, that the testimony 
of 'Cilia, and other servants of Madam Bernard, and the dis- 
covery among his baggage remaining at the hall, of inflam- 
matory papers, has made the doubts certainties in the belief 
of everybody. But there is other news in Mr. Granger's letter, 
which affects the reader even more than the story of the 
infamous slanders which Hutton has so successfully circulated; 
the news of the reported engagement of Clara and his rival. 

" ' In this gossip, at least,' says the writer, ' there is much 
show of truth. I fear that Hutton has not only won the heart 
of our credulous friend, but, that he has him in his power 
through the heavy loans which he has made to him, and, that 
he makes his power felt. Though she may seem to do so, I 
cannot think that Miss Hayward likes her suitor better than 
before, but, we do not know what sacrifice she might be led 
to make for her father's happiness.' 

" This startling intelligence, coupled with his repeated dis- 
appointments in Clara's neglect of her promise to write to him, 
fills him with most painful alarm, and makes him doubly 



176 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

impatient at the circumstances wliicli have kept him so long 
away from the Hall. Happily, these circumstances are passed, 
and the renewed health of his mother permits him to return 
without longer delay. Advising Mr. Granger of his immediate 
coming, and, enjoining upon him to take no measures in his 
vindication, which may betray the secret between themselves, 
our hero is again on his way to New Orleans. 

'' On his arrival here, his ill-fortune seems to pursue him 
more tenaciously than ever. New letters from Mr. Granger 
inform him that the Colonel has suffered additional and crush- 
ing losses, in the destruction of much of his estate by the 
ravages of a terrible crevasse, which losses leave him wholly 
at the mercy of his chief creditor, Hutton ; and he is advised 
not to return at present, lest the violent feeling against him 
should endanger even his life. 

" This advice has, of course, no weight with him ; on the 
contrary, he does not lose an instant in the completion of his 
journey. Fortunately, he arrives at the Hall in safety, and 
demands to be confronted with his accusers, and to be heard 
in his defence. Though his old friendly greeting is wanting, 
the Colonel yet receives him with courtesy, and assures him 
that he shall have every opportunity to clear himself of the 
accusations against him. But it is now late, and the inquiry 
must be postponed until the morning. 

"It is a singular scene that is now before us in the old 
dining-room of Mistletoe Hall. Such a silent, and such a 
varied group has never before gathered within the cheerful 
walls. There sits the Colonel, with a sternness of look quite 
foreign to his nature. Hutton's bold and confident air is not 
unmixed with visible symptoms of uneasiness, particularly 
when his eye hap]3ens to meet the steady, composed gaze of 
the tutor, as he stands yonder, with haughty and indignant 
bearing, more befitting a judge than a culprit. Madam Ber- 



MISTLETOE HALL. 177 

nard moves about witli marked nervousness ; and Clara, witli 
'Cilia by lier side, is eagerly, tliougb sadly, awaiting tbe de- 
nouement of tbe scene. Mr. Granger, too, tbe overseer, is 
also present, quietly expectant. 

" As tbe Colonel signifies to tbe tutor tbat be is ready to 
bear bis explanation of tbe grave cbarges be bas been grieved 
to find so strongly preferred against bim, our bero bands bim 
a package of letters, addressed to Mr. Mark Danville. 

" ' You once told me,' says be, ' tbat Mr. Hutton, tbougb 
a stranger, was in correspondence witb our friend Mr. Danville. 
You were quite rigbt. Tbey bave corresponded during my 
residence bere, and you now bold all tbe Lieutenant's letters! 
A basty glance will sbow you tbat Mr. Hutton saved botb 
myself and Mr. Granger tbe trouble of informing Mrs. Dan- 
ville of certain matters, tbe knowledge of wbicb you suppose 
to bave influenced ber to tbe forgetfulness of old friendsbip. 
Tbey will teacb you, also, tbat if tbere really is any cbange 
in Mrs. Danville's or ber son's feeling towards you and your 
family, tbey are only sucb as you migbt expect to follow tbe 
curious tales wbicb Mr. Hutton's vivid fancy bas told tbem.' 

" Yarious cbanges pass over tbe Colonel's countenance, as 
be long and silently, tbougb eagerly, peruses tbe epistles. Be- 
wildered witb tbe stories tbey tell of tbe sinking fortunes of 
bis family, of bis own desire to be released from bis engage- 
ments to tbe Danvilles, and Clara's openly expressed contempt 
for Mark, be looks up inquiringly now and tben at tbe Lieu- 
tenant, wbo is ill at ease beneatb bis searcbing gaze. 

" ' A strange tale !' be says, at last, ending bis reading, 
' and certainly in your band, Mr, Hutton I' 

"'Tbey are forgeries!' cries tbe Lieutenant, 'forgeries wbicb 
lie' — pointing to tbe tutor — 'bas invented to injure me and 
screen bimself ' 

" ' It is possible,' says tbe tutor, ' tbat Mr. Danville's replies 
12 



178 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

to these gratuitous communicationg, may be found in Mr. 
Hutton's possession — in his trunks, if he is not afraid to have 
them explored, lest at the same time there should be discovered 
some remains of the papers and tracts he has managed to place 
in my own !' 

" Come, come, Colonel !' says the Lieutenant, with an ill- 
affected air of indifference, 'this would be too insufferable if 
it were not too absurd ! If there are such papers in my pos- 
session, which is possible, since Mr. Lawson seems so well 
informed, it is without my knowledge, and can prove nothing 
except a plot for my ruin.' 

" ' A plot, indeed, for his ruin — a fatal plot,' says the tutor, 
calmly, 'but one laid with his own hands, and that of his 
accomplices, 'Cilia, and, I regret that I must say it, Madam 
Bernard !' 

" All eyes were now turned upon Madam, who indignantly 
denied the charge, but Mr. Granger now offered such conclu- 
sive proofs against Hutton and herself, supported by the con- 
fessions of 'Cilia, that the consciousness of guilt was too evident 
in the looks of both, to admit further doubt. 

"'Cilia's story, which was now retold, of the manner in 
which, by the Lieutenant's order. Madam Bernard and herself 
had distributed the condemning tracts, and had bribed the 
slaves to accuse the tutor, was so circumstantial, and so 
thoroughly corroborated by other confessions, that further ex- 
amination seemed qnite unnecessary, and the Colonel at once 
adjudged the Lieutenant to be guilty of the crimes wrongly 
and maliciously imputed to the tutor. The justice of this 
decision was well sustained by the rash and self-accusing vio- 
lence with which the Lieutenant turned upon the Colonel 
with threats of vengeance, in the immediate demand of pay- 
ment of the heavy bonds he held against his estate. 

" Colonel Hay ward hesitated for a moment at the fears 



MISTLETOE HALL. 179 

■wliich tliese angry threats called up in his heart, when Mr. 
Granger informed the rude creditor that he need be under 
no apprehension on that score, as he was even then prepared 
to satisfy all his demands, having been furnished with the 
necessary means by his employer, Mr. Mark Danville. 

" ' Such means and such instructions have long been in my 
hands,' Mr. Granger adds, in explanation, to the wondering 
Colonel, ' my own reports to Mrs. Danville and her son hav- 
ing led them to fear that they might at some time be needed. 
So you see. Colonel ITayward, that your friends have not for- 
gotten you.' 

"At this new mortification, the infuriated Lieutenant has 
abruptly left the Hall, and Madam Bernard, too, has withdrawn 
in stately indignation. The Colonel is heartily apologizing to 
the tutor for his false suspicions, and thanking him for the 
service he has done him in exposing the real character of the 
Lieutenant. 

'"And now,' cries he, joyfully, 'we may again hope to see 
our friend Mark ! Aye, Clara, my darling ! We must welcome 
him the more heartily, when he does come, in remembrance 
of the kind and generous service he has just offered us through 
Mr. Granger,' 

" ' I shall be glad to see Mr. Danville, father,' says Clara, 
as she, too, offers her hand in congratulation to the student ; 
' but my heart ' 

'"Your heart, huzzy! Where is that, pray?' 

" ' Here, father, where it has long been, in the keeping 
of ' 

" ' My tutor ? Impossible ! You do not mean to say that 
you love ' 

" ' Your tutor, certainly. Colonel,' says our hero, as he draws 
Clara yet nearer to his side, ' but, at the same time, your — 
can my romance be forgiven ? — ^your friend, Mark Danville !' 



180 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

" ' "Well, I'm heartily glad that the cat and I are out of 
the bag at last ! He speaks truly, Colonel, and is none other 
than what he claims to be !' cries the overseer, in a tone of 
glad relief ' Mark Danville, as sure as I am William Gran- 
ger and this old castle Mistletoe Hall !' 

" We need not depict the general wonder and delight at 
this extraordinary revelation ; the explanations and excuses 
which our hero makes about the fancy which prompted him 
to pay his court to Clara, unprejudiced pro or con by adven- 
titious circumstances ; the pardons which are accorded to him ; 
the suspicions, ' all along,' that he was not exactly what he 
seemed, which suddenly come to everybody's memory ; or, 
finally, the closer reunion which at a later day takes place 
between the seemingly estranged families of the Danvilles and 
of Mistletoe Hall." 



At the conclusion of Mr. Yermeille's history our guests 
prepared to depart, but lingered yet awhile longer to hear 
a highly moral sequel, in which Mr. Brownoker dealt most 
poetical justice to the fugitives. Madam Bernard and Lieu- 
tenant Hutton, whom he thought the narrator had suffered to 
escape too easily. 



CHAPTER IX. 



" If you have sufficiently drained the Mississippi, gentle- 
men," said Mr. Deepredde, putting a sudden stop, with the 
authoritative rap of his official knuckles, to the irrelevant talk 
of our assembled guests, " we will make our way, via the Mis- 
souri, yet further into the heart of the great West. Here we 
have some pictures by the admirable painter-naturalist, Karl 
Bodmer, delightfully suggestive of wild adventure and stirring 
sport." 

"Ah, ah, 'The Elkhorn Pyramid'*— ' Herds of Bisons on 
the Upper Missouri ' " — read Mr. Megilp, scanning the graphic 
drawings which now passed round the board. " Appetizing texts, 
indeed ! Flakewhite may muse, and ' smile,' if he will, by the 
grassy edge of the cag^d fountain, or Yermeille may plot mis- 
chief in the shade of his umbrageous oaks ; but give me the 
music of the rifle in the untrodden wilderness, and let me 
gossip with the red-man, the bison, and the bear. What is 
the crackle of anthracite to the blaze of the burning prairie, 
or the strains of a guitar compared with the jocund serenade 

* Fronting Chapter I. 



182 THE KOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

of hungry wolves ! Here, far away from tile conventionalities 
and the artificial needs and cares of life, is the place* for 
gennine enjoyment. Here, where your trusty gun may bring 
you dainty meats for food and warm skins for clothing, be- 
yond which you feel no other wants !" 

"Your conception of the spirit and poetry of our present 
neighbourhood is the true one," said Mr. Deepredde ; " for 
though the westward course of empire is rapidly scattering the 
seeds of other characteristics than those of forest life over the 
whole vast area of the wild plains which border the Missouri, 
their chiefest features are still those of Nature in her wild 
primitive life. Looking then, as we always should, for the 
individualities of the lands we visit, it is as proper that we 
be hunters and trappers west of the Mississippi, as that we 
should play the role of courtly gentlemen in Broadway. The 
travellers of the next generation will find a very different 
spirit in this our "Western landscape, so rapid is the growth 
and extension of the population here. A few years hence, 
and Mr. Megilp will almost forget that he ever chased the 
buffalo over the plains which he will then find covered with 
peaceful firesides and smiling gardens. Such is the certain 
prediction of the weird voice of the impetuous locomotive, 
impatient to traverse the gorges of the Rocky Mountains ; so 
says the murmur of that great city growing on the margin 
of the far-off Salt Lake ; and such is the significance of the 
angry contentions, rife at this hour in our National Legislature, 
for the possession of the desert wilds of remote Nebraska. 

"And now, gentlemen, with this perhaps too long exordium, 
we will make a hasty survey of the present physical aspect 
of the boundless regions commanded by the interminable Mis- 
souri and its many great afiluents." 

"Megilp," said Professor Scumble, "has travelled the coun- 
try all over, and is just the showman we want." 



GATES OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS. 183 

" I will soon make tlie voyage for you," said that gentle- 
man, in read_w response to the Professor's demand, " though it 
is not a very short one, being no less than four thousand 
miles from the springs whence the great river flows to its 
confluence with the Mississippi. Though there are, of course, 
many points of extraordinary interest in all this long transit, 
yet, for hundreds of miles, the scenery is monotonous and 
stupid enough. "We must, however, expect Nature to nod a 
little in such a jaunt. Here the waters roll through vast 
stretches of arid and sterile land, and yonder they are bor- 
dered, on either shore, by the rich alluvial fringe of the prairie 
meadoAvs. Each of these prevailing aspects is interesting enough 
while novel to the eye, and the wearying excess of them may 
well be borne in consideration of the beauty of the bold bluffs, 
and yet more charming surprises, with which their monotony 
is frequently relieved. 

" Such a surprise is the wonderful scenery at the famous 
'Grates of the Eocky Mountains,' four hundred miles below the 
source of the river. Here, through a passage of a couple of 
leagues, the giant rocks rise perpendicularly from the water's 
edge to the towering height of twelve hundred feet. For miles, 
the dark waters in their narrow bed wash the base of these 
huge walls, so closely that not a foot-hold is anywhere to be 
found. It is a ghostly gorge on the sunniest day; but when 
its habitual gloom is deepened by the shadow of a stormy 
sky, its sentiment of solitude grows painfully impressive. Let 
a thunder-peal reverberate, as often happens, in a thousand 
wailing voices through the rocky windings of the glen, and 
let the blackness of darkness be increased by the vanished 
gleam of the lightning flash, and you think you have left 
this fair world far behind you. 

" I was once, with some friends, traversing this passage at 
such a fearful moment as I have described, when we became 



184 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN" LANDSCAPE. 

aware that we were pursued by a party of Indians. ISToise- 
lessly and breathlessly we urged on our canoes, pausing at 
intervals only to ascertain the progress of our foes, hope and 
despair alternately filling our hearts as we seemed, at one 
moment, to be gaining, and, at another, losing ground. It was 
only now and then that we caught a glimpse of the savages, 
and the sound of their unceasing and unearthly yells came 
to our ears with such uncertainty, that it gave us no clue 
to their position. The excitement of the struggle was intense 
as their random arrows flew about our ears, and as the deadly 
effect of our fatal shots was told to us in the death-cries 
from their own ranks. 

"We took fresh courage, as the increasing light spoke our 
approach to the terminus of the glen, and gave us hope, once 
on terra firma, of distancing our foes. New fears, though, 
seized upon us, lest our scanty supply of ammunition should 
be exhausted before we reached the prayed-for sanctuary. 
Happily the dread vanished, as the arrows of the savages sen- 
sibly decreased in numbers, and the chorus of their infernal 
shrieks died away. 

" When we at last leaped panting upon the open shore, 
not a sound of pursuit was to be heard, leaving us the glad 
hope that we had slain them all, or so many as to secure 
us from further danger. But not stopping to verify this sup- 
position, we made all possible haste to reach the camp which 
we had so gaily left a few hours before. Once safe among 
our companions, we mentally vowed to be wary henceforth how 
we ventured within the Gates of the Eocky Mountains ! 

"But I am forgetting my office of topographer. Some 
hundred miles or so below these colossal Gates — I wish Samp- 
son had been with us at the time of the adventure I have 
narrated, that he might have toppled them down on the heads 
of our rascally pursuers — ^is yet another scene of equally grand 



THE FAR WEST. 185 

tliougli very different character — the ' Great Falls,' a worthy 
peer of Niagara itself The river at this point descends, by 
a succession of cascades and rapids, no less than three hun- 
dred and fifty-seven feet in sixteen miles. The perpendicular 
falls, commencing down the stream, are first, one of eighty- 
seven feet, and others, successively, of nineteen, forty-seven, and 
twenty-six feet. Between and below these are continual rapids, 
from three to eighteen feet descent. 

" Below the Great Falls there is no serious obstacle to navi- 
gation, excepting in the shallowness of the waters during 
seasons of drought. At such periods the steamboats often meet 
Avith much difficulty in ascending the river. The current of 
the Missouri is much stronger than that of the Mississippi, and 
so turbid as to have given it its name, meaning ' mud river.' 

" Numerous as are the objects of interest in the landscape 
of this section of our country, which tourists have already dis- 
covered, there are doubtless yet hidden within the mountain 
fastnesses, many undreamed-of wonders, whose fiime is still to 
be made. We must remember that Missouri is a new State, 
and its tributary country still a wild and unexplored region. 
Its great capital city of St. Louis is described in the Gazetteer 
of Dr. Beck, no longer ago than in 1823, as ' a flourishing 
post-town !' 

" Not taking into account that omnipotent ' manifest des- 
tiny,' to which we all so confidently look for many grand 
results, besides the settlement of our whole Western territory, 
Missouri possesses sources of wealth which must make her 
march to power quick and notable. She has a magnificent 
area of productive soil, suitable for every species of vegetation, 
excepting that of the tropics, and an abundance and variety 
of mineral stores already famous the world over. 

" All this for the future — for the present, this grand terri- 
tory is a perfect paradise to the hunter, yielding him in abuu- 



186 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

dance every species of game, from partridges to panthers, 
from prairie liens to shaggy buffaloes." 

" There is one very striking feature of this region, which 
Megilp has very strangely omitted to mention," said the Pro- 
fessor, recalling the gossip which was straying towards other 
subjects, when Mr. Megilp intimated the close of his story. " I 
allude to the marvellous fissures which sometimes so suddenly 
open in the immense arid plains or steppes, that stretch down 
by such slow and imperceptible descent from the snowy peaks 
of the Eocky Mountains. I find a graphic description of these 
remarkable scenes, in Mr. 'Kendall's Santa Fe Expedition,' 
which you will, perhaps, permit me to read. The traveller 
is passing the grand Piano JEstacado, which sweeps from the 
base of the mountains to the head waters of the Arkansas and 
other rivers. He has already wended his wandering way 
through one of these fearful chasms, and is rejoicing to find 
himself once more on the open sun-lit prairie, when, without 
the slightest intimation in tree or shrub of a change in the 
monotonous landscape before him, he finds himself at the 
mouth of a yawning gorge, which exceeded in grandeur any- 
thing he had yet beheld. 

" ' One by one,' he says, ' we left the double-file ranks, and 
lost in amazement, rode up to the verge of the terrible abyss. 
In depth, it could not be less than eight hundred feet, was 
from three to five hundred yards in width, and at the point 
where we first struck it, the sides ^were nearly perpendicular, 
A sickly sensation was felt by all as we looked down, as it 
were, into the depths of the earth. In the dark and narrow 
valley below, an occasional spot of green relieved the eye, and 
a small stream of water now rising to the view, then sinking 
beneath some huge rock, was foaming and bubbling along. 
Immense walls, columns, and, in some places, Avhat appeared 
to be arches, were seen standing, modelled by the wear of the 



THE FAR WEST. 187 

water, nudoubtedly, yet so perfect in form that we could with 
difficulty be brought to believe that the hand of man had 
not fashioned them. The rains of centuries falling upon our 
immense prairies had here formed a reservoir, and their work- 
ings upon the different veins of earth and stone had made 
these strange and fanciful shapes. 

" ' Before reaching the chasm, we had crossed numerous 
large trails leading a little more to the west than we were 
travelling ; and the experience of the previous day had led 
us to suppose that they all terminated at a common crossing- 
near by. In this conjecture we were not disappointed, for a 
trot of half an hour brought us into a large road, the tho- 
roughfare, along which millions of Indians, buffaloes, and 
mustangs had evidently travelled for years. Perilous as the 
descent appeared, v/e well knew that there was no other near. 
The leading mule was again urged forward, the steadier and 
older horses were next driven over the sides, and the more 
skittish and intractable brought up the rear. Once in the 
narrow path which led circuitously down the descent, there 
was no turning back, and our half maddened animals finally 
reached the bottom in safety. Several large stones were 
loosened from their fastenings by our men during this frightfal 
descent; these would leap, dash, and thunder down the pre- 
cipitous sides, and strike against the bottom far below us, 
with a terrific and reverberating crash. 

" * We found a running stream on reaching the lower end 
of the chasm, on the opposite of which was a romantic dell, 
covered with short grass and a few scattered cotton-woods. A 
large party of Indians had encamped on this very spot a few 
days previous, the wilted limbs of the trees, and other signs, 
showing that they had made it a resting place. We, too, 
halted a couple of hours to give our horses an opportunity to 
graze and rest themselves. The trail, which led up on the 



188 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

opposite side, was discovered only a short distance above ns, 
to the south, winding up the steep and rugged sides of the 
acclivity, 

" ' As we journeyed along this dell, all were again struck 
with admiration at the strange and fanciful figures made by 
the washing of the waters during the rainy season. In some 
places perfect walls, formed of reddish clay, were seen standing, 
and were they anywhere else, it would be impossible to be- 
lieve that other than the hand of man had formed them. The 
veins of which these walls were composed were of even thick- 
ness ; very hard, and ran perpendicularly ; and, when the 
softer sand which had surrounded them was washed away, the 
veins still remained standing upright, in some places a hundred 
feet high, and three or four hundred in length. Columns, too, 
were there, and such was their appearance of architectural 
order, and so much of chaste grandeur was there about them, 
that we were lost in wonder and admiration. Sometimes the 
breastworks, as of forts, would be plainly visible; then, again, 
the frowning turrets of some castle of the olden time. Cum- 
brous pillars of some mighty pile, such as is dedicated to 
religion or royalty, were scattered about ; regularity was 
strangely mingled with disorder and ruin, and Nature had 
done it all. Niagara has been considered one of her wildest 
freaks, but Niagara sinks into insignificance when compared 
with the wild grandeur of this awful chasm — this deep abys- 
mal solitude, as Carlyle would call it. Imagination carried 
us back to Thebes, to Palmyra, and to ancient Athens, and 
we could not help thinking that we were now among their 
ruins.' 

" His passage out of this place, Mr, Kendall tells us, was 
made with the greatest difficulty, after being completely shut 
out from the world during six long hours. When he again 
found himself upon the level prairie, and, after proceeding 



HUNTING THE BUFFALO. 189 

some hundred yards, looked back, not a trace of the immense 
chasm could he discover." 

"It is," said Mr. Megilp, "one of the favourite modes of 

hunting the " 

" Pardon me for interrupting you a moment," said the chair- 
man, "but I would remark, before the conversation turns from 
the topography of our subject, that, having already travelled 
so far westward, it would be very agreeable could we cross 
the snow-covered crests of the great Eocky Mountains, and, 
after a peep at the wonders of California and Oregon, look 
out upon the wastes of the Pacific. Despite the but partial 
explorations yet made of these wild territories, enough of 
beauty and interest has already been found, to lure thither 
the hunter of the picturesque, in the teeth of all the dangers 
and difficulties of the journey. I should like to look upon the 
* stern and rock-bound coast ' of our newly -found Dorado, and 
watch the rising and the setting of the sun from the crests of 
her mighty hills, clad in everlasting snow. Think, gentlemen, 
of the Cascade Mountains of Oregon, with an elevation of four- 
teen thousand feet ! There's a morning stroll for you ! After 
such a feat, you might do the Camel's Hump, or Mount Wash- 
ington, in a quiet evening walk ! Then, there are the Grand 
Dalles or basaltic precipices of the Columbia river, in its pas- 
sage through these same giant hills; and I know not what 
other marvellous things ; no one knows, as yet. Years hence 
long after we shall have laid down our worn-out pencils, the 
artists of America will revel in the rich beauties of this now 
unknown Western world. 

"Now, Megilp, if your speech has not spoiled by keeping," 
continued the chairman, "let us hear what you have to say 
about the buffaloes." 

" It is a common method of hunting those animals, among 
the prairie tribes, I was about observing, to drive the infuriated 



190 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

herds over the edges of those great chasms, of which Professor 
Scumble has been talking, where, bounding from crag to crag 
down to the dark bed of the horrible abjss, their torn carcasses 
are heaped up in frightful hecatombs of death. 

" Another process of securing the buffalo, is that knoAvn 
as the ' Prairie Surround.' Mr. Webber, in his admirable book 
about 'Wild Scenes and Wild Hunters,' graphically describes 
this mode of hunting. 'The widely scattered line of the sur- 
round,' he says, 'inclosing some valley containing a herd, is 
rapidly closed up by the yelling warriors composing it, who 
drive the frightened animals from its circumference, urging 
towards a centre, where, precipitated in the headlong crush 
upon each other, the helpless mass sways, bellowing, while 
amidst the cloud-dusts of their collision, the forms of the war- 
riors, who have leaped from their horses upon the backs of 
the buffaloes, may be dimly seen treading the horned tumult 
with fierce gestures, and wielding the long lance as a rope- 
dancer does his balance pole, with the slight difference, that 
with nearly every step they thrust its sharp point down through 
joint and marrow, between the spine and scull of some new 
victim, whose shaggy back they have but pressed in passing 
with their moccasined feet. Thousands are thus slaughtered 
in a few minutes. This scene, as weird and wild as it is real, 
tamed, by contrast, all midnight phantasmagoria, beneath the 
blaze of noon-tide." 

"Megilp has no doubt slaughtered many an infuriated bull, 
in his day," said Mr. Brownoker; "perhaps managed an entire 
'surround,' all alone. He is a 'mighty hunter' before— him- 
self! What say you, gentlemen, shall we have 



megilp's experience in buffalo-hunting. 191 



" To tell the truth," answered Nimrod, " I never accom- 
plished much in the buffalo line, having attempted it only 
once, and then with but indifferent success. Indeed, I believe 
that I rather lost, than gained, by the operation. We had 
pitched our tent near the edge of a great prairie, on the eve 
of an eventful day, and our hearts leaped at the approaching 
realization of that most romantic hope of forest-life, a buffalo- 
hunt. As we sat, to a late hour, talking, in the quiet moon- 
light, of the valiant deeds the morrow was to witness, a half 
incredulous, half sneering smile would come occasionally to 
the grim lips of the swarthy rangers, whom we had secured as 
guides and tutors. With the thousand cautions and hints 
which they gave us touching the process of the expected 
chase, they maliciously mixed up many tales of bloody mis- 
adventure, which might have intimidated less resolute souls 
than ours. 

" When we sallied eagerly forth, under the glittering light 
of an early morning sun, our warlike aspect — armed as we were, 
some with lances pointed with sharp blades, others with mur- 
derous rifles, and others, again, with that yet more fatal weapon 
— when in skilful hands — the Indian bow — contrasted vividly 
with the quiet sentiment of the verdant plains over which we 
were moving, glittering and redolent as the happy landscape 
was, with the rainbow-beauty and the Araby odours of myriad 
beautiful flowers. It did not seem possible that so smiling an 
Eden could be the home of creatures uncouth and wild as the 
burly bison; still less, that it could ever be the terrible theatre 
of such scenes of deadly struggle as that we were anticipating. 



192 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

" For a while, as we vainly looked for signs of the enemy, 
we felt that the time and scene were indeed unsuited to our 
cruel purpose; but there, at last, far away across the broad 
savannah, looking in the hazy distance like a small black 
cloud upon the horizon, were the grazing herds, quite uncon- 
scious of the fate awaiting them — and so they continued to 
be, as, spurring our trusty nags, we scoured the plain in hot 
pursuit. It was not until we had approached quite near to 
them, that they became aware of their danger; when suddenly 
pausing in their rough gambols, they raised a bellowing thun- 
der of affright, and dashed in mad panic over the prairies. 
Now, indeed, we felt that we were in that fairy land of which 
our childhood and youth had so often and so wildly dreamed: 
and when the first clear ring of the rifle, was followed by the 
death roar and heavy fall of a ponderous bull, and a perfect 
frenzy of blind terror had seized upon the swaying herds, we 
forgot . everything, but the all-absorbing passion of the hour. 
Blood, blood, was the terrible cry of our hungry souls, as if we 
had never had gentler nutriment in all our life. On we 
bounded, now after, now in the midst of the maddened brutes. 
Carcass after carcass fell panting upon the torn and trampled 
plain, under the fatal balls, or the no less sure lances of the 
veterans of our party: but as yet neither my amateur compan- 
ions nor myself had done more than keep out of the way of 
the ugly beasts. 

" This ' masterly inactivity,' said I to myself at last, may 
have answered well enough for Fabius, but will never do for 
Megilp ! And raising a mental cry of ' Liberty or death !' 
I put after an astounding creature, big and black as the devil 
himself. 

" ' Only chuck a little salt on his tail, and you'll get him 
sartain,' cried an old ranger, sarcastically, as he observed the 
culmination of my desperate purpose. 



megilp's experience in buffalo-hunting. 193 

" ' Sing liim a liymn ; give him " Old Hundred" in bis right 
ear,' shouted another, maliciously, ' that '11 fetch him at wonst, 
sure as snags,' 

" ' Coax him gentle, and you'll saddle him nice,' laughed a 
third, as an unlooked for lunge of the creature, brought him so 
near to me, that for an instant, half losing my seat, I fell 
upon his shaggy back. In a twinkling, however, I shied off, 
and raising my 'weapon,' let fly both the barrels at once, with 
such unexpected success, that down came the buffalo with a bel 
low and a crash, that made me for an instant, think that the 
prairie had ' bust.' Unfortunately, though, he keeled over the 
wrong way, and dropped plump under my horse's nose, placing 
me in imminent jeopardy of impalement on his ugly horns. 
I began to feel a higher esteem for Fabius, when a timely 
arrow whizzed by my swimming head, and entering that 
of my victim, saved my life — but not my breeches. The 'en- 
vious Casca' had made sad work there, and the laugh which 
I had levelled, not long before, at the grotesque costume of our 
guide, was now, most vexatiously turned back upon myself 

"'Ain't the gentleman afeard of catching cold?' asked one 
tenderly. 

" ' I'm blasted sorry I ain't got a handkerchief to lend him,' 
said another with almost tearful sympathy. 

'"What a pictur' he'd be in the settlements,' added a 
third. 

"'Never mind, don't cry,' said a fourth. 'It's rayther un- 
pleasant of course. But the hide will make you a new pair, 
and one more to be depended on than them woman's duds.' 

" However, I managed to bear up against all this laughing 
raillery, when I considered how much worse the event might 
have been ; and other thoughts drew the attention of my com- 
rades from my misadventure. Then the chase over, there fol- 
lowed the preparations for taking care of the fruits — I mean 
13 



194 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

tlie meats of our butchery, and tlie care of concocting the re- 
past, for wliicli our appetites were so well sharpened. 

'"But I assure you, gentlemen,' said Mr. Megilp, as he 
closed his anecdote, " I never sacrificed another pair of trow- 
sersat a buffalo-hunt." 



CHAPTER X. 

" In our passage homeward from tlie far West, we shall 
find it very desirable, if not necessary, to traverse the waters 
of the beautiful Ohio," said Mr. Deepredde, " and this episode 
will not, I assure you, gentlemen, prove the least interesting 
in our journey. 

" Did the scenery of la belle rivihe not offer to the eye so 
many a winding bout of linked loveliness as we delight in 
here, there is yet matter for a world of pleasing thought in 
the contemplation of the prosperous fortunes of the many 
great States which lie upon its banks, and whose resources it 
has so much served to develop. As we sail, we gaze in 
charmed surprise, upon the thriving towns and the fertile 
fields of Illinois and Indiana, Ohio and Kentucky, all wilder- 
nesses half a century ago, and now "holding, in wealth, popula- 
tion, and power, the highest rank among the nations of our 
vast confederacy. I must confess that I should like to dwell 
long upon this glorious picture of human enterprise and happi- 
ness, but that such a portrait, however seductive, would carry 
us beyond the scope of these reunions. And I am impatient, 
moreover, to read to you a graphic description of the pictorial 



196 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

attraction of our river, in some extracts from an unpublished 
letter to our estimable host. The writer is an intelligent 
lover of Nature,* and is thoroughly familiar with the scenes 
of which he speaks. 

" ' John Eandolph,' he says, ' had the misfortune upon his 
only trip to the Ohio, to find, going and coming, ice upon one 
occasion, and low water upon the other. ' So this is your 
beautiful river !' he cried ; ' frozen one half of the year, and 
dried up during the other !' But this sarcastic note of our 
grumbling Virginian must be taken with a due degree of 
allowance for his usual extravagant style. Though the Ohio 
is not as free from ice as the Eio Grande, nor as deep as the 
Hudson, yet it was not inaptly that the early French explorers 
called it ' the beautiful river.' 

" ' For a thousand miles it flows from the rising towards 
the setting sun, in almost the same parallel of latitude, and, 
while it has not the broad, sweeping banks of the Mississippi, 
not the palisaded heights and the bold mountain borders of 
the Hudson, each shore offers a grateful medium between the 
abruptness of the one, and the level monotony of the other. 

" ' Two long Ikes of gentle hills mark its course from its 
source, almost without interruption, to its confluence with the 
father of waters; between these two picturesque ranges, it 
pursues its quiet way, undisturbed, excepting at Louisville, by 
rapid or cascade whatever. The bed of the stream is usually 
a yellow sand, thickly sprinkled with blue and gray pebbles, 
with occasionally a few shells of periwinkle and bivalve mus- 
cles, which being left upon the sand-bars by the falling of the 
waters in August and September, afford a rare feast for the 
crows and the congregations of buzzards, who wheel and circle 
gracefully through the sultry autumnal air, or sit upon the 

* W W. Fosdick, Esq. 



DIAMOND ISLAND. 197 

dead boughs of tall trees, sunning their outstretched wings. At 
this season may also be seen poised in mid air upon flapping 
pinions, like a king-fisher, the great fish-hawk, who often, 
through cowardice, loses his game to the bald eagle, the 
monarch of all that feathered world. Here and there, knee 
deep in the slow current, the blue heron stalks carefully 
along in fear of frightening his victims, the buffalo-perch or 
the red-horse, which are waving their fins as they lie sucking 
upon the bottom ; or standing upon some snag which protrudes 
from the water, is the lesser bittern, drawn up into the smallest 
possible space, apparently fast asleep; but let some uncon- 
scious minnow or silver-side unfortunately swim by, and in 
an instant an arrowy neck is shot out, and Mr. Silver-side 
snapped up by our sleepy acquaintance. 

" ' The banks of the Ohio are, perhaps, more indebted for 
their beauty to the majestic forests with which they are clothed 
than to any other feature ; and, like great emeralds set in the 
silver stream, the exquisite islands which dot all its course, 
are the best evidence of the rich alluvion that has fed these 
forests from time untold. Civilization has made, and is makino- 
many ravages and inroads upon the beauty of these islands, 
but those who have seen them in their primitive state can 
never forget their charms. Blennerhasset's Island is a famous 
and favourite spot, but the crown-jewel in this cluster of the 
Ohio brilliants, is the beautiful Diamond Island in the 
vicinage of Louisville. 

" ' This island is a microcosm of the valley of the Ohio — an 
arboreal and floral epitome of its productions. I saw it when 
not an axe had touched its primeval forest growth, nor the 
foot of domestic cattle crushed the green watery leaves which 
covered the ground. Here, in the latter end of April or the 
beginning of May — according as the season was hot or cold — 
could be seen a sight, in the way of flowers, which surpasses 



198 THE ROHANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

fable. Over an area half a mile in widtli and two miles in 
breadth, stretched one unbroken bed of blossoms — one mass of 
multi-coloured bloom. Stately Indian turnips held up their 
striped purple tulip bowls ; bright yellow golden-cups touched 
glasses, and drank the morning dew with the broad-leaved 
blue-bells. A carpet of violets, azure, white, and gold, over- 
laid the dark floor of this beautiful island ; and with dainty 
crow-feet, red-spiked pinks, and such familiar flowers, were 
commingled a multitude of strange and nameless blossoms of 
rarest form and hue. But it is in its forest trees that this spot 
presented the most wondrous sight; here the pawpaw — usually 
but a shrub — rose from out this rich soil to the high dignity of 
its proudest woody peers, and mingled its broad green leaves 
and brown blossoms with the box elder, the water-willow, and 
the red-bud ; while rising far above these, and towering to a 
height which no tree ever attains in the eastern portion of our 
Union, could be seen the black-berry, the cotton-wood, the black 
walnut, the red elm, the white-armed hollow sycamore, and 
that glorious monarch of all Western trees, the gigantic yellow 
poplar — often five feet in diameter and a hundred and fifty 
feet in height — rose here in its full majesty. But to those 
who have never seen the original forests of the "West, it will be 
impossible to convey an idea of the extent and luxuriance 
of the wild grape vine. Every tree was interlaced with its 
winding folds, and its great tendrils, frequently more than a 
hundred feet in length, disported themselves in the sunshine 
upon the crowns of the tallest trees ; or, when winter had 
stripped the forest of its foliage, the clustering frviit hung 
thickly in purple bunches; while, like trees of very fire, the 
Indian arrow bushes flamed through all the island, with their 
scarlet berries, giving a most startling and brilliant effect in 
times of snow. 

" ' But these scenes are passing ; the primitive forests melt 



THE CAVE IN THE ROCK. 199 

away ; the deer is no longer to be seen bounding through 
the yellow blooming spice-wood bushes ; the black and glossy 
wild turkey cannot be seen scratching among the dry leaves 
for beech-nuts; nor is the thunder of the pheasant's drum to be 
heard upon the mossy log at even-tide. 

" ' The raftsmen who used to come down lazil}^ upon their 
loads of lumber and shingles, floating with the tide, are dis- 
appearing ; and with them, the flat-boatmen and the wood- 
boatmen are fast being lost sight of, as their predecessors the 
keel-boatmen have been long since; steamboats have taken 
their place, and the old fellows who used to wind their long 
tin horns and send their merry music up through the hills, 
have vanished, feeling, that for them, " Othello's occupation's 
gone !" 

" ' The last of these pioneers of the waters of the Ohio that I 
saw, was the old knot of fishermen who used to camp upon the 
pebbly sand-bar which stretched up from the head of Diamond 
Island — in their weather-beaten tent, drawing their seines by 
night, and hunting or sleeping by day. But the gray squirrel 
that fed upon the walnuts, and the wild pigeons that plucked 
the purple clusters of the grape, are gone. The game, too, has 
fled, and the idle, harmless hunters and fishers with their blue 
striped or red flannel shirts are to be seen there no more. 
The axe has been busy. Cattle and hogs have trodden upon 
the wild flowers' richest bed, and the bloom has gone from 
Nature's garden forever. Art cannot restore it. Cultivation 
and science may make new plants to spring up, but the Eden 
beauty of the scene is past away, beyond the ingenuity of man 
to restore. Its vanished loveliness, though, will ever dwell 
in my memory, as the Hesperian Island of the Occident.' '' 

" Our correspondent has made no mention," said Mr. Brown- 
oker, "of the notable object on the Ohio which forms the 
study of our evening's sketch. The famous cave in the rock 



200 THE KOMANCE OF AMEKICAN LANDSCAPE. 

is one of the curiosities of Illinois. Its grand mural portico, 
presents, as we approach, a very picturesque aspect. "We en- 
ter the cavern, under a semicircular arch of about eighty feet 
span, and twenty-five feet in height, and, ascending gradually 
from the bed of the river, we are enabled to penetrate readily to 
the terminus, at a distance of less than two hundred feet. 
Though the scene is one of no slight pictorial beauty, its 
great attraction lies in the tales which it tells of adventure 
and crime. At different periods it has been the dreaded 
haunt of various bands of murderous vagabonds. In years 
gone by, the stout-hearted boatmen of the Ohio passed the 
lawless spot with nervous trepidation." 

"Speaking of caverns, a common commodity hereabouts," 
said Mr. Asphaltum, "we are now on the threshold of the 
great Mammoth Cave, the boast of Kentucky. This surpri- 
sing freak in the handiwork of Nature is one of the most re- 
markable of its class in the world. Its spacious chambers 
must have made fitting dens and lairs for the mastodons and 
other giant animals which once flourished here. It is the 
wondering work of days to follow the windings of this mighty 
Tartarus, and examine its numberless chambers, galleries, sta- 
lactites, mounds, and streams. It has been explored for many 
dark miles, without any sign of a terminus. The scale of this 
strange subterranean architecture, may be inferred from the 
grand dimensions of its stupendous halls ; one of which covers 
an area of two acres, and is arched by a single rocky dome a 
hundred and twenty feet in height. This famous cave is the 
resort, not only of the curious lover of Nature, but of invalids 
who seek the benefit of its equable temperature. Human 
bones are found here to such extent, as to lead to the belief 
that the cave was a place of sepulture to the races which 
formerly occupied the land." 

" Kentucky," said Mr. Blueblack, " is deservedly honoured 



KENTUCKY. 201 

with the possession of this wondrous scene. This hardj State 
is the oldest of the Western nations, and the most attractive of 
the Ohio group, both in picturesque charms and in historical 
record. Under the indomitable Boone, Kentucky led the peril- 
ous van in the settlement of this region, suffering for her sister 
States all the fearful hardships and bloody wounds which are 
ever the lot of the bravest. It is a thrilling story, that of her 
early life: dyed with the blood of her ill-fated people. 

" The physical aspect of the country is, in many parts, 
of remarkable interest, displaying long ranges of mountain 
height; while the noble rivers which she sends into the Ohio, 
far excel, in beauty, any portion of that great water. The 
Kanawha, which we visited while in Virginia, the Cumberland, 
the Tennessee, the Kentucky, and the famous " Salt Kiver," of 
political waggery, all, at intervals, abound in noble themes for 
the pen and the pencil. I do not remember ever to have seen 
a more inspiring sight than that which I once enjoyed, gazing 
abroad from "the summit of the Lookout Mountain, in the ex- 
treme north-western nook of Georgia, over a rich and limitless 
valley where flowed the winding waters of the Tennessee! 
The Kentucky Eiver, in its long course, makes many grand 
passes through the hills, forming rich examples of wild river 
view — chasm, crag, and waterfall : you remember, perhaps, Mr. 
Willis's glowing, yet truthful memories of a recent visit to the 
banks of the Kentucky. 

" The States bordering on the northern shore of the Ohio — 
Illinois, Indiana, and Ohio itself — do not possess any very 
striking pictorial interest beyond the novel impressions which 
tlie stranger will receive gazing upon the great flowered prai- 
ries. To Illinois may be applied much of what has been said 
here about the Mississippi Valley, of which it is a portion. The 
shores of the Illinois Eiver offer, here and there, bluffs of 
commanding heights; famous among which are the sandstone 



202 THE EOMANCE OF AMEEICA?>r LANDSCAPE. 

precipices of Starved Rock, The Lover's Leap, and Buffalo 
Eock. The "Cave" of our portfolio, as we have said, apper- 
tains to the domain of Illinois. 

" In Indiana, the chief notabilities are the specimens of 
those subterranean abodes so abundant in the "VYest. The 
great cavern called the Wyandotte, is claimed to rival the 
grandeur even of the Mammoth Cave of Kentucky. The 
Wabash, the principal river, flows chiefly through table and 
swamp lands, and comes in the same pictorial category as the 
streams of the South West. Here is that famous battle ground 
of Tippecanoe, where General Harrison repulsed the Shawnees 
in 1811, and won a watchword to beat the Democrats in the 
Presidential struggle of 1841 — ^for all remember, gentlemen, 
the magic refrain of 'Tippecanoe and Tyler too!' Lake Michi- 
gan skirts the north-western part of Indiana for some forty 
miles, and opens to it the valuable commerce of our vast in- 
land seas." 

" Apropos," said Mr. Deepredde, "Blueblack's allusion to the 
Great Lakes reminds me that we shall not find a better oppor- 
tunity than the present, to make the hasty visit due from us to 
the States of their vicinage. Here we shall shake hands with 
little Michigan, not a very handsome lass, and with buxom 
Wisconsin, and her Western neighbour, the younw Iowa. The 
surface of the last mentioned States is generallyniomposed of 
great rolling prairies — the pastures where the Great Spirit of 
the red-men feeds his flocks and herds of buffalo, and elk, 
and deer. Wisconsin is fruitful in objects of antiquarian in- 
terest: earth-works fashioned in the shape of men and animals, 
and evidently the achievement of races, antecedent to our Indian 
tribes. At Aztalan, there is a venerable fortification, five hun- 
dred and fifty yards long, nearly three hundred feet wide, and 
between four and five in height. Another work, resembling 
a man in a recumbent attitude, one hundred and twenty feet 



{7^. 



^ 



^C^'l 




THE FAR WEST. 203 

long, and tbirtj feet across the trunk, is to be seen near 
the blue mounds. And at Prairie, another, like unto a turtle, 
fifty-six feet in length ! Some of these remains resemble the 
extinct mastodon, while others are so defaced, as to entirely 
obscure the design of the architects. A part of that beautiful 
expansion of the Mississippi, called Lake Pepin, lies in this 
State. Among the links of the mural precipices, which en- 
close the waters of Lake Pepin, is the celebrated Maiden's 
Eock, a charming cliff of five hundred feet, which Mr. As- 
phaltum forgot to show on his panorama of the Mississippi. 
Nearly all the rivers of Wisconsin present attractive pictures of 
rapid, and waterfall, and mural bluff: and like the Territory 
of Minnesota, too, of pond and lake. 

"In the last mentioned feature, Minnesota is wonderfully 
rich. The north-eastern corner of the map of this Territory is 
completely riddled with the little black holes which stand for 
these sparkling eyes of Nature. Not to mention Lakes Supe- 
rior and Michigan, on its northern and eastern boundaries, 
respectively, there is Lake Pepin, the Lake of the Woods, 
Eainy Lake, Eed, Devil, and Spirit Lakes, and many others. 
These clear pebbly waters sometimes cover an area of no less 
than forty miles. 

"Minnesota, too, has many picturesque rivers, flowing into 
the Missouri on her western limits, eastward into the Missis 
sippi, and northward into Hudson's Bay. 

"In Michigan, there are many small lakes, Avhich give 
beauty, here and there, to her generally flat and uninteresting 
surface. The Straits of Mackinaw, which divide the northern 
and southern peninsulas, and connect the waters of Lake Michi- 
gan and Lake Huron, are replete with attractive scenery. The 
bold shores of the Island of Mackinaw in these Straits, rise to 
a perpendicular height of nearly two hundred feet. Not far 
off, is the narrow channel of St. Mary's, linking the floods of 



204 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

Huron and Lake Superior, and opening to us a view of the 
far-famed Pictured Rocks, formed of parti-coloured sand-stone, 
and calling up dreams of vanished or fabled architecture, in 
their fantastic fashionings." 

" The Pictured Rocks," said Mr. Megilp, the talk here 
coming to a halt ; " that reminds me of an adventure of mine, 
thereabouts, which, if you are, as I think jou must be, tired 
with your long travel, I will relate. It promised to be a 
squally affair, but turned out 



S;otI]hg after ^IL 



" You remember what I said to you, at Tallulah, about my 
propensity to quiz the natives, in assuming all sorts of charac- 
ters and professions? At the time to which I now refer, I 
took a fancy to be deaf as a post, making it necessary for my 
companion, and all whom I met, to bellow like bulls, in order 
that I might hear and understand them. In this way I often 
sorely perplexed and confused the worthy people. Thus, our 
hostess would ask if I liked my tea seasoned — referring to a 
proposed admixture of sugar and cream — when I would very 
innocently tell her that they were all very well when I left 
home, excepting the twins, who were teething, and had the 
measles terrible hard. 

" ' No, no ! not the children ! I asked, ' would you 
like ' 

" ' Thirteen altogether, at present, and a good prospect for 
more, thank you ! As likely a looking squad of boys and 
girls as you would wish to see very near you. Though, to 
be sure, the twins are ' 

" ' You must speak loud, madam,' my friend would say, in- 



NOTHING AFTER ALL. 205 

terposiug at such moments. ' He is very deaf, and can scarcely 
liear a thunder storm.' 

" Retiring one evening to my quarters, in a wayside hut, 
after a play of this sort, I found myself separated from the bed 
of some fellow travellers, only by a scanty wooden partition, 
so slight that, despite my deplorable deafness, I could dis- 
tinctly hear every word they uttered. 

" Now I did not particularly fancy this close neighbour- 
hood, for we had met these men before on our journey, and 
taken a decided and distrustful aversion to them. Why, I 
know not, beyond the generally suspicious style of their physi- 
ognomies. It was only the day previous, that they had watched 
me with curious eyes, while I was making a trade for a horse, 
to supply the place of one I had just lost. I thought then 
that my well-filled purse was a grateful object of contempla- 
tion to them. They had, too, asked a very long blessing at 
the supper table, which did not reassure me, and scarcely less, 
the manner in which they kept apart from the rest of the 
family through the evening. 

" Arranging my pillow, I resolved to keep my eyes and 
ears open for a while, and, if possible, learn a little more of 
these unknown gentry; a resolve which was not abandoned, 
when I heard one of them caution the other against talking 
so loud as to awaken the man^ in the next room — meaning my 
watchful self — and the answer, that there was no danger, since 
I was too deaf to hear even Gabriel's trumpet. 

" Though I could not understand all that was said, since 
they spoke in a very low key, either from habit, the influence 
of the silent hour, or an undefined fear, after all, that they 
might be overheard; yet I picked up enough to assure me that 
my companion and myself were the subject of their dialogue, 
and what I did hear was not at all calculated to allay my 
curiosity. 



208 THE EOMANCE OF AMEEICAN LANDSCAPE. 

liad passed the night; and the smile deepened, when it was 
remarked that we had seemingly quite lost our appetite. 

" The worthy landlord quickly divined that all was not 
exactly right; so, the meal over, we poured into his bewil- 
dered ears the grand secret of our night's experience, and our 
scheme for bringing the villains to justice. 

" ' What !' he cried, at last, when his astonishment per- 
mitted him to speak, 'the men who were here last night, 
robbers, murderers?' 

" ' As sure as Gospel,' said we. 

" ' Ha, ha, that's just it,' screamed our host, his surprise 
giving way to an uncontrollable fit of mirth. ' Gospel ! Why 
they are preachers of the Gospel !' 

" ' Are you sure ?' we asked — a lurking suspicion, that we 
had ' sold' ourselves, forcing its way into our heads. ' And 
the burial in Murderer's Hollow?' 

" Here the host laughed more ohstreperously than ever. 
' The burial !' he cried, half choking. ' Why, that's Tom Nu- 
gent, the old hunter, who died the other day, and is to be 
put into the ground this morning ! These men, you have 
taken for highwaymen, are the greatest preachers in these 
parts. They are going to officiate at old Tom's funeral this 

morning, on their way to the camp meeting at . Why, 

I heard them say that they should be glad to have your com- 
pany on the journey, especially through Murderer's Hollow, 
as you seemed to be well-armed, and the road was not so safe 
as it might be. They said they should go ahead, so that they 
might attend the funeral and be ready to join you when you 
came along. Ha, ha, ha !' 

" ' Ha, ha, ha !' we repeated, but not quite so roysterously 
as Boniface ; for as the women and children, gathering around, 
had managed to pick up the thread of the story, and now 
joined heartily in the merriment, we felt sorry that we had 



NOTHING AFTER ALL, 209 

not got the start, instead of our liigliwaymen, and were now 
in the very deepest and most lonely glen of Murderer's 
Hollow ! 

"This annoying adventure cured me of my deafness for a 
while, and read us a lesson upon the immorality of eaves- 
dropping, which I commend to your most serious reflection." 
14 



CHAPTER XI. 

Mr. Deepredde put on his spectacles, and peered gravely 
into the map of New York, which we had placed under his 
erudite nose. " I am afraid, gentlemen," said he, " that out 
of the abundance of your pleasant memories, you will all speak 
at once, when I ask you to send back your thoughts to that 
charming feature of the landscape of the Empire State, its ex- 
haustless lake scenery. The name of these exquisite idyls in 
the poetry of Nature, in our own State, as in all the northern 
part of the Union, is legion. ' They lie,' says Willis, ' in the 
midst of the wild forests, like silver mirrors, tranquil and 
lovely, mingling a refinement and an elegance with the bold 
character of the scenery, which contrasts, like Una with the 
couchant lion.' 

" Everywhere, these silver mirrors repeat the picturesque 
beauties of the New England hills and forests. In the wild 
solitudes of Maine the noble stag looks fearlessly into the wa- 
ters of Moosehead, Umbagog, Oquosuck, Moosetucmagantic, and 
Molechumkea-merek ; the names of Winnipissiogee and Squam 
always bring pleasant recollections of New Hampshire, and 
equally grateful is the memory of the fairy ponds of western 



212 THE KOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

Connecticut. Beautiful lakes, of every variety of extent and 
character, are to be found in all parts of New York, while 
through the northern division, there extends an unbroken 
chain of them, over a distance of nearly two hundred miles. 
The finest part of this chain lies among and around the Adir- 
ondack hills, and the queen of them all is the particular subject 
of our consideration to-night— the far-famed Horicon, as the 
Indians had it. Lake Sacrament according to the French, and, 
again, in plain English, Lake George." 

"The chairman," said Mr. Yermeille, "may very properly 
speak of fair Horicon as the gem of the lake views, not of 
our own State alone, but of the Kepublic. Indeed, I have 
heard the most intelligent travellers confirm my own opinion, 
excepting in the subtle charm borrowed from the embellish- 
ments of art — the fairy chateaux and crumbling tower — ^its 
beauties are not rivalled by any sister scenes in the old world. 
Here, with your permission, I will turn to a passage in Mr. 
Willis's 'brief mentions' of American Scenery, which I see 
upon the table. 'Loch Katrine,' he says, 'at the Trosachs, 
is a miniature likeness of Lake George. It is the only lake 
in Europe that has at all the same style and degree of beauty. 
The small, green islands, with their abrupt shores— the emerald 
depths of the water, overshadowed and tinted by the tenderest 
moss and foliage; the lofty mountains in the back-ground, and 
the tranquil character of the lake, over which the wind is 
arrested and rendered powerless by the peaks of the hills and 
the lofty island-summits — are all points of singular resemblance. 
Loch Katrine can scarce be called picturesque, except at the 
Trosachs, however; while Lake George, throughout all the 
mazes of its three hundred and sixty-five islands — there are 
said to be just this number — preserves the same wild and 
racy character of beauty. Varying in size from a mile in 
length to the circumference of a tea-table, these little islands 



LAKE HORICON. 213 

present tTie most multiplied changes of surface and aspect — 
upon some only moss and flowers, upon others a miniature 
forest, with its outer trees leaning over to the pellucid bosom 
of the lake, as if drawn downward by the reflection of their 
own luxuriant beauty.' With one more extract, I will cease 
my trespass on Mr. Willis's pages. 'The mountains on the 
shores of this exquisite lake, consist of two great ranges, bor- 
dering it from north to south. The western range passes west- 
ward of the north-west bay, at the head of which, a vast spur 
shooting towards the south-east, forms the whole of the 
peninsula between the bay and the lake. Both these ranges 
alternately approach the lake, so as to constitute a considerable 
part of its shores, and recede from it again to the distance, 
sometimes, of two or three miles. The summits of these moun 
tains are of almost every figure, from the arch to the bold 
bluff and sharp cone. In some instances, the loftier ones are 
bold, solemn, and forbidding; in others, they are clothed and 
crowned with verdure. It is the peculiarity of Lake George, 
that while all the world agrees to speak only of its loveliness, 
it is surrounded by features of the highest grandeur and sub- 
limity. The Black Mountain is one of these ; and there is 
every variety of chasm, crag, promontory, and peak, which a 
painter would require for the noblest composition of mountain 
scenery.' 

" The peninsula mentioned here, as forming the north-west 
bay, extends southward, within a dozen miles of the head of 
the lake. This point is very appropriately 'called the Tongue; 
and in the angles and interlacings which it makes with the 
long line of hills on either side, is the most serviceable ingre- 
dient in the fine compositions, presented at every step of 
progress, by Avater or by land, through the lower part of the 
lake. Eastward of the Tongue, lies that contracted portion of 
Horicon called the Narrows, a passage which, seen from Sab- 



214 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

bath Day Point, at its northern terminus, offers one of the 
noblest pictures to be found in the whole thirty-six miles of 
the voyage down the lake." 

"While our Horicon," said Mr. Flakewhite, taking up the 
discourse, "wins admiration by its triple beauty of unrivalled 
hill, island, and water, it has also, its trio of moral charms, in 
its highly poetic humour, its social life, and its historic and 
legendary tales. The scenery of Lake George, under every 
aspect and every light, cannot fail to delight and quicken the 
dullest fancy. Its social pleasures, for it is the summer home 
and haunt of thousands of amiable and intelligent tourists, must 
soothe and content the most ennuied soul ; while the most 
thoughtful and the most imaginative mind will find abundant 
matter for reflection and for speculation in its tradition and 
romance. From one or other of these points of inspiration, 
some of our improvisators will, I hope, be able to draw for 
our amusement either song or story." 

"Well, gentlemen," said Mr. Asphaltum, after a pause, 
" so fruitful a subject as ours, to-night, should not go begging 
for chroniclers ; and, as I cannot lisp in numbers, I will tell 
you a tale of the heroic period of Horicon — a memento of our 
particular theme, the shrewd exploits of the brave Major 
Eogers — which gives name to the scene of our picture, and 
suggests the baptismal of my story of 



C|e ^mxt of Uaricon ; or, fvogers's Slik. 

" A century ago, when the French and English colonies of 
America were contending for the mastery, they made the now 
peaceful waters of our winsome lake, the scene of their wild 
and bloody deeds — deeds, which terrible as they were at the 



THE SCOUT OF HORICON. 215 

time, now serve to spread a halo of deep historic interest over 
every wave and island, and hill of the neighbourhood— from 
the once busy forts of Edward and William Henrj, to the 
far-famed walls of Ticonderoga, now left in a picturesque 
beauty worthy of older and more storied lands. 

" The period of which I speak was one of unwonted activity 
throughout the length and breadth of the American colonies. 
The people now no longer solely occupied, as in earlier days, 
in the protection of their fire-sides against the cruelties of 
their Indian neighbours, were awakening to the loftier and 
more extensive spirit of heroism, incident to a united struggle 
against a powerful foreign foe ; that spirit of national individu- 
ality and dignity, which henceforward continued to increase 
and strengthen, until the country broke away from the bond- 
age of foreign rule and became one of the great powers of 
the earth. At first glance, we are apt to underrate the character 
of the men of those days, in so homely a garb is it exhibited 
to us; and yet, it was grander and more eventful than the 
thought and achievement, which in other days and circum- 
stances, won the applause of solemn senates, and the acclama- 
tions of the swarming populace. The deeds of the simple, yet 
lion-hearted rangers and partizans of the colonial and Eevolu- 
tionary wars, fill as interesting, if not as sounding a page in 
the world's history, as those of 'the noblest Eoman of them 
all.' Among these humble, yet memorable names, are those of 
the indefatigable and fearless Marion, the brave Putnam, the 
daring Stark, and the gallant Eogers. 

"As I was saying, these were stirring days throughout the 
colonies. Virginia and Carolina had led the van in pushing 
back the French intruders, and now New York and Massachu- 
setts coming to their aid, the scene of the war was transferred 
to their territory, and the chief operations centred, henceforth, 
on Lake George. 



216 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

"The enemy in tlie stronghold wliicli they had built at 
Ticonderoga, were in possession of the great highway between 
their territory in the Canadas and the possessions of the colo- 
nies. The great aim of the colonial operations was to secure 
this important post, and many and divers-fated were the expedi- 
tions sent out for this purpose. Under the nature of the 
circumstances and situation, the movements of these expeditions 
were guided solely by the information gathered by the wary 
and intrepid scouts. The whole country being a wilderness 
of most difficult access, and swarming with the hidden spies 
and parties of the enemy, the enterprise of collecting such 
information was as hazardous as it was of great pith and 
moment. None but such self-sacrificing patriotism, and such 
exalted daring as that which animated the souls of our gal- 
lant rangers, could have ventured upon the task. 

"The journals of these scouts present us with graphic 
pictures of the nature and risk of their labour, and the brave 
spirit in which they performed it. Some of these interesting 
' reports' are preserved in the pages of the Documentary His- 
tory of our State, a copy of which I see is in the possession 
of our worthy host. If he will hand me the fourth volume, I 
shall be certain to interest you by the reading of an extract 
or two. 

" Here," continued Mr. Asphaltum, turning over the leaves 
of the tome, which we placed before him, "here is a passage 
from the journal of our hero, himself, dated Lake George, 
October 14th, 1755. 'I Embarked,' he writes, 'in a Birch 
Canoe, at the Camps, on the South End of Lake George, with 
Four Men beside my self, k sailed twenty-five miles, and 
Landed on the west side of the Lake, then travelled by Land, 
and on the Eighteenth Day I arrived on the Mountains on 
the West side of Crown Point ; there I lay that Night, and 
all the next Day, and observed the Enemy's motions there 



JOURNALS OF THE SCOUTS. 217 

and about Crown point, and observed Ambreseers Built upon 
the Mount, about Thirty Eods To the southwest of Crown 
point fort ; in the Evening went Down to the Houses that 
was built upon the Lake to the South of Crown point, & 
went into a barn that was filled with wheat & left three 
men, & proceeded with one man To make further Discoverjs 
at the fort, and found a good place to Ambush within Sixty 
Eods of the fort, & Imediately went back and took our part- 
ners and ambushed at the proper place we had found, and 
there we lay Till about Ten of the Clock, & observed several 
canoes passing up and down the Lake and sundry men that 
went out To work about the secular affairs, & Judged the 
whole that was in the fort to be about five Hundred ; at 
length a frenchman Came out of the fort Towards us, without 
his gun, and Came within fifteen Eods of where we lay ; then 
I with another man Eun up to him In order to Captivate 
him, but he Eefused to Take Quarter, so we Killed him and 
Took off" his Scalp in plain sight of the fort, then Eun and 
in plain view about Twenty Eods & made our Escape, the 
same Night we Came Eight west of Tianderago about three 
Miles and upon a Mountain in plain sight of their fort & see 
large Incampments Eound it & heard a vast number of small 
arms fired. Judged there to be Two Thousand men at Tian- 
orago ; and on the Twenty -first Day Grot to our Canoes about 
Eight of the Clock in the Morning & found all safe, and about 
Nine of the Clock in the Evening Arrived all well at our 
Encampment where we set out. The above is the Chief Dis- 
covery that we made at Crown Point and Tianargo.' 

"In another 'report' to head-quarters, our hero Avrites, 
'Set out with a Party of fifty men with' orders to Look into 
Crown Point and the Advance Batterj^s that is Built Eound 
it, the first Day we march'^ Down the Lake George about 
Eighteen Miles k Camp<i, so we proceeded by the west^d of 



218 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

the Greato Mountains And continu*^ our March until the 2^ 
of Febi^y, and then Clambrd up a Greate Mountain to the 
West'^'i of Crown Point about one Mile, and gave it the name 
of Ogden's Mount, there we took a Particular view of the 
sd fort and the Eedouts that is Built Eound it & a Plan of 
the same, we Laide there untill the Evening then went Down 
the Mountain, march^- through a small Yillage About half a 
mile from the Fort to the Suther^, there we Laide in Ambush 
upon each side of the Eoade that leads from the Fort through 
sa"i Yillage, there we laid Until about nine o'clock in morn?, 
and there came along one French man which we took pris- 
oner, & 2 more were upon the Eoade a coming towards us, 
but Discovered our Ambush and made a speedy escape to 
the fort, and some of my men pursued them within gun Shot 
of the Fort, but could not overtake them. So we Being Dis- 
covered, thought it needless to waite any Longer for Pris- 
oners, but Imediately set fire to the Barns & Houses, where 
was abundance of Wheat & other grains, & we Kill'i their 
Cattle, Horses, Hogs, in number about fifty. Left none 
living in said village to our knowledge, about 11 o'clock we 
marched Homeward, Leaving the Village on fire the 5th inst.' 

" Li the rude style and orthography of these journals," 
continued the narrator, as he ended his reading, " we have a 
vivid picture of the rugged exterior of the heroism of our 
country's history — an exterior which carries back our thoughts 
to the humble and uncultivated, yet dauntless natures of the 
apostles of our Christian faith. 

" It was while on a service such as the extracts which I 
have read, describe, that our hero met with the famous adven- 
ture which I proposed to narrate. Eeturning over the hills 
from a weary and hazardous observation of the terrible fortress, 
his thoughts, as he pushed through the dense forests, were 
busy with the results of his enterprise — so busy that he not 



KOGERS'S ADVENTURE. 219 

only failed to notice his near approach to an ambuscade of 
Indians, but that he unwarily gave expression to the satisfac- 
tion of his heart, and called upon himself the observation of 
the savages, by a loud and hearty laugh. 

" * I've got them now, sure as pisen !' said he, in a tone 
of happy self-felicitation — but at the same instant, he caught 
a glimpse of his unlooked-for foes — and with a sudden and 
total change of countenance, but still with a daring insou- 
ciance of feeling, natural to him and his vocation, he muttered, 
*and now they've got me^ true as Gospel!' 

" Hemmed in on all sides, there was, seemingly, no hope 
for our beleaguered ranger. But his natural valour and wit 
did not desert him. Without waiting to be captured, he sent 
up a loud shout for help, and spreading his arms towards his 
foes, rushed madly into their midst, with an affectation of the 
confidence and joy of a fugitive finding sanctuary. 

" ' Quick, quick !' he cried, ' or they'll be upon us !' point- 
ing to some imaginary object in the direction from whence he 
had come. 

" ' Where ? what ?' asked a bewildered Frenchman, who 
appeared to be in command of the troop. 

" ' The Yankees !' gasped the fugitive. ' I've give 'em the 
slip by a miracle ! I was coming to you with a message from 
the fort, when they got hold of me, and stole my papers, 
the scoundrels! They'd have' killed me, sartain, if I hadn't 
watched my time when they were asleep and done for their 
infernal Captain — that diabolical Eogers!' 

" ' Eogers !' exclaimed the party, in one voice, as they 
gathered round the exhausted rangers. ' Have you killed that 
rascal ?' 

" ' Yes, yes ! I've sent him to Heaven, sure enough ! I 
gave him one dig, and it settled him without a word. He 
didn't so much as say "thank 'ee," the ungrateful dog! Then 



220 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

I stripped liim, and putting on his nasty rags, coolly passed 
the sentinels, and ran for my life. "When I saw you, I was 
afeared that I'd fallen into their dastardly hands again, but 
thank God, I'm safe now, and if we make haste we may meet 
the imps, and get back the messages ' 

" The party were so rejoiced at the capture of their dreaded 
foe, the redoutable Rogers, and our hero played his part with 
such perfect aplomb, that they did not delay to question the 
truth of his story, but set off in all haste towards the English 
quarters — the direction indicated by the fugitive, as the where- 
abouts of his late captors. 

" They continued the , search eagerly, but without success, 
until another night brought them to a halt. Fatigued with 
their extraordinary labours, and assisted by the somnolent 
effects of a jug of whisky, which our hero adroitly managed to 
get down their throats, they soon sank into a deeper repose 
than the imaginary one which had facilitated his fancied escape 
on the previous night. 

" Waiting patiently until the whole party seemed to be 
either asleep or unobservant of his motions, he quietly stole 
from the circle, and again breathed freely ' in the wilderness, 
alone' ; but, as his changeful destiny would have it, he was 
not quite alone ; as he suddenly discovered, when he ran 
rudely against an ^unlooked-for out-post. In a twinkling, the 
fuo-itive snatched the tomahawk from the hand of the aston- 
ished sentinel, and buried it in his head, but not with sufficient 
celerity to prevent his sending up a cry of alarm, which 
aroused the sleepers to a knowledge of his flight, and to a 
torturing suspicion of the ruse by which they had been so 
readily deceived. 

" Rogers did not stop to look behind him, knowing that 
his safety now laid in his legs alone. He had at all times a 
tolerable degree of conndence in these good friends, which was 



EOGERS'S SLIDE. 221 

now increased by tlie tliouglit of the fine start he had got of 
his pursuers, and of the hesitation and delay their surprise 
would create. Upon the latter advantage, however, he soon 
found that he could count but little. It was only at intervals 
that he managed to gain sufficiently upon his foes to lose the 
sounds of their pursuit. In his eager haste, he for a moment 
mistook his course, and escape now no longer appeared possible, 
as he suddenly found himself upon the brow of a huge, mural 
precipice, overhanging the lake. 

" When the enemy caught a glimpse of his position, and of 
his momentary hesitation, they sent up an unearthly yell of 
triumph. It was for an instant only, that he stood gazing over 
the precipice, and as the voices of his foes died away, a smile 
crossed his lips, as if in pleasure at some odd fancy of his 
brain. 

" ' I'll fix the varmints, after all !' he muttered, and coolly 
reversing his snow shoes in such wise as to lead to the infer- 
ence that he had slid down the precij)ice, he slid, instead, 
quietly off in another direction. 

"When the Indians reached the rock, they looked in blank 
amazement, at finding it unoccupied, and their wonder rose to 
admiration and awe, when they became conscious of the tre- 
mendous feat by which their victim had escaped ; and never 
afterwards did they look upon his face, or hear his name, with 
out a feeling of reverence and fear, as of one under the especial 
protection of the Great Spirit. 

"And from that day to this," said Mr. Asphaltum, ending 
his narrative, " that famous precipice has been known as 
Eogers's Slide !" 

" And a fitting monument it is," added the chairman, " to 
the memory of a gallant man." 

"Now," said Mr. Brownoker, "I will, if you please, and 
by way of varying the time, give you a later, and lighter 



222 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

reminiscence of Lake George. It is not quite so adventurous, 
or so eventful, as Asphal turn's, being all about a lady's glove, 
instead of a warrier's hatchet — significant, you perceive, of 
the present peaceful character of the region, in contrast with 
its olden days of turmoil and strife." 

" Our bruised arms hung up for monuments, 
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, 
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures." 

" Exactly, my dear Scumble," continued Mr. Brownoker, 
after a moment's halt, while he nodded to the worthy Pro- 
fessor, as he thus relieved his mind. " We are now in the 
drawing-rooms of Horicon, instead of its battle-fields. My 
story, as I was saying, is all about a glove. Gloves, you 
know, are among the most romantic and suggestive thoughts 
in the world. How the young heart beats at the sight of a 
dainty glove, upon a fair girl's gentle " 

" Oh ! that I were a glove upon that hand. 
That I might touch that cheek" — 

"Don't interrupt me, Scumble, with your pitiful verses — 
fair girl's gentle hand. There is the hawking glove, with its 
thousand delightful memories of the merry age of falconry; 
and, now we live over again the wondrous days of chivalry, 
as we pick up the gauntlet of the fearless knight. Think of 
those good old times, when a poor devil might legitimately 
win a sweet kiss, and a pair of gloves into the bargain, from 
his sleeping lady-love ; when gloves had the magic gift of in- 
ducing fairy dreams ; when the poetical ceremony was in vogue. 
of blessing the glove at the crowning of the French monarchs; 
and, when England's kings, on the same occasions, with the 
casting of a glove, gallantly challenged all the world to dis- 



DIAMOND ISLE ; OR, THE STRAY GLOVE. 223 

piite tlieir right to their thrones ! From the cherothecse and 
manicfe of the Eomans, down to the present hour, gloves, like 
modem sentimentalists, have had a history! Even yet, the 
romance lingers. Gloves are still the most ceremonious and 
poetic part of our attire; still, as of old, favourite gifts at the 
bridal, and at the grave. Gloves " 

"We admit all that," interrupted Mr. Blueblack. "But 
to leave gloves in the abstract, and to come at once to the 
individual, and particular glove of your story " 

" Ah, yes ! My story of 



iiammti |sk; or, C|^ ^traj (Slok. 

" Some summers ago I had been long lost to the sight, if 
not to the ' memory dear,' of my friends, in the beautiful soli- 
tudes of Horicon. I had mused away whole months, far re- 
moved from the great world, in my quiet studio at the little 
inn at Bolton, now that fashionable resort, the Mohican House. 
And a favourite haunt it well deserves to be — for it is the 
centre of the most picturesque portion of the lake ; command- 
ing a hundred happy views of the Tongue, the Narrows, the 
North-west bay, the islands, and Shelving Rock; and, from 
the neighbouring elevations, overlooking the whole charming 
panorama of land and water. 

" I had had a glorious time there, ' all by myself ; but 
the sweetest sweets grow disagreeable in excess ; and after a 
while, one might weary even of the sun and shade of Eden 
itself, you know. So I thought, as I was one day lounging 
homeward, with my sketch-box on my back; and I suddenly 
resolved to take a peep at a more busy world than that in 
which I had so long lived. To this end, I determined to mi- 



224 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

grate, for a season, to that fashionable resort at Caldwell, the 
Lake House, where I could again have use for my cravat, and 
once more conscientiously venture upon the extravagance of 
blacking my boots. 

" On regaining my den at the Bolton landing, a carriage 
was just rolling off towards the very place of my desires ; and 
a hurried glimpse which I caught of a beauteous face protrude^d 
for a moment from its window, clinched my purpose to gather 
up my duds and be off. My plans were by no means changed, 
upon learning, as I entered my studio, that the fair unknown 
had in my absence, and by permission of the hostess, amused 
herself with my portfolios. When a further examination re- 
vealed to me a perfumed glove, and that glove of the most 
petite and most faultless contour, still warm from the fair hand 
which had, designedly or not, left it among my treasures, I 
could no longer brook the briefest delay in the hour of my 
departure, as I instantly prepared for my visit to the Lake 
House." 

At this point, Mr. Brownoker begged his hearers to con- 
sider the first chapter finished, and to ' fortify' themselves 
before the commencement of the second. 



" On second thought," he resumed, " after gazing again 
upon the bald peak of Black Mountain, upon the richly 
wooded ridges of the Tongue, the palisades of Shelving Eock, 
and the placid reach of islanded water, which the window of 
my little studio revealed, I resolved to make only a brief 
visit, still retaining my cherished sanctum here, as my head- 
quarters. The remembrance of the true delights I had long 
enjoyed, in communion with ever-constant and unsophisticated 
Nature, who, as some gentle-minded youth has sweetly ob- 
served, ' never did betray the heart that loves her,' proved 



DIAMOND isle; OR, THE STRAY GLOVE. 225 

much stronger tlian the seductions of fashion's soulless joys ! 

" Instead of following the road which skirts the margin of 
the lake, I thought I would jump into my boat and take 
another pull among my favourite islands. A charming day 
was drawing to a close, and the silvery disc of the moon had 
already taken its place high in heaven, giving sweet promise 
of a lovely night. Tossing my portfolio and my travelling- 
sack — furnished only with some spotless linen, and a resplen- 
dent pair of patent leathers — into the skifp, my oars were soon 
moving to the music of my thoughts, as I skimmed the 
translucent waters. 

" The physical exertion of rowing, the beauty of the even- 
ing, radiant in the intoxicating atmospheres and hues of a 
fading summer sun, the ever-changing and ever-charming land- 
scape, familiar, yet always fresh to my eye and heart; the 
crowd of gay and mad fancies which filled my busy brain, 
all conspired to induce a feeling of hope and gladness, un- 
wonted even to my always buoyant and happy humour. 
Simply to live, would have been, at this moment, a sufficient 
delight; but my soul leaped within me, as it answered to the 
varied voices of the myriad unseen spirits which filled all the 
sky, and earth, and water around me. I moralized pleasantly 
with the setting sun, the brightening moon, and the passing 
clouds, and then gossiped with that mad-cap flatterer, Echo, in 
her hidden home among the hills, asking her a thousand 
absurd questions, to which she made me a thousand obliging 
replies. I cannot repeat all the nice confidences, and all the 
bright hopes she gave me touching the fair owner of my pre- 
cious glove. Suffice it to say, that they were enough to keep 
my thoughts active and happy — so active and happy, indeed, 
that the hours fled unperceived, and, to my surprise, I sud- 
denly found myself in the shadow of Diamond Isle, and not 

for from my place of destination. 
15 



226 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

" Diamond Isle was one of my favourite liaunts, and as I 
api^roaclied, I turned the prow of my skiff, to make it a pass- 
ing call. Nearing the shore, I was not a little surprised to 
find a boat drawn up on the beach, No time, however, was 
left for speculation on this incident, as more startling surprises 
absorbed mj attention. A cry of terror reached my ear, and 
in an instant afterwards, I beheld, rapidly hastening towards 
the shore, a sprite-like figure, clad in mystic white. I pushed 
in with all speed, and springing from my boat, caught the 
frightened girl in my arms, just as she was sinking to the 
earth, exhausted and insensible. 

" The moonbeams, which had been hitherto obscured by 
the clouds, now shone out full upon us ; and I recognized the 
features of the fair face which I had seen at the carriage-win- 
dow, on returning to my inn that afternoon. When she soon 
after opened her eyes with returning consciousness, her alarm 
took another form, at finding a stranger by her side, but a few 
words of exj)lanation and introduction, aided by a mention of 
the visit she had paid to my sanctum during the day, sufficed 
to quiet her new fears, and to enable her to relate the cause of 
her first terror; which turned out to be nothing more serious 
than the surprise of a sudden encounter with a rattle-snake. 

" ' I have often met the creatures,' she said, as a smile rose 
to my lips, ' without any sense of fear or averson, and I cannot 
imagine what may have possessed me to act so ridiculously at 
this time.' 

"In reply to my wonder at finding her thus alone in such 
an odd place, and at this strange hour, she told me that in 
obedience to an impulse, which often seized her, to commune 
with Nature in her solitary haunts, she had stolen away from 
the circle of merry-makers in-doors, and, as her eye wandered 
over the beauties of the placid waters and the sleeping islands, 
she could not resist the temptation to enter her skiff, and had, 



DIAMOND ISLE ; OR, THE STRAr GLOVE. 227 

untliinkingly, extended her ramble far beyond lier first pur- 
pose. 

" ' Though,' she continued, ' I frequently venture on bolder, 
and more unreasonable exploits, than a lonely visit, by moon- 
light, to Diamond Isle, In my short life, I have passed through 
so many scenes of danger, that all sorts of adventure have 
now, to my fancy, a species of fascination, like that which 
impels one to gaze at the serpent, or to dash headlong from 
the brow of a precipice.' 

" ' Certainly a strange love,' I answered, ' for a young and 
dainty girl ! Perhaps you will tell me of some of the hair- 
breadth 'scapes of which you speak.' 

" ' Willingly,' she said, seating herself in the stern of my 
boat, and adjusting the rudder, while I threw out my oars 
and pushed once more for the Lake House — pulling her own 
now empty, skiff in our wake — ' willingly, but as our time 
will not suffice for more than one recital, it shall be of an 
incident which happened to me in this very region, durino- a 
visit a few years since. One bright morning, I joined a merry 
party in an excursion to the forest-glens of the 'Tongue Moun- 
tain. In the course of the day, we managed, in the followino- 
of our several humours, to get widely separated, some pursuing 
one object, and some another. My own cavalier, a devoted 
lover of the chase, catching a glimpse of a passing deer, forgot 
his gallantry, and leaving me alone, started off in pursuit. 
Wearied by his protracted absence, and by the many exercises 
and excitements of the day, I established myself, lazily, under 
the arms of a brave old hemlock, and soon fell asleep. When 
I opened my eyes, after a refreshing nap, a savage creature, 
which I afterwards learned was a panther, glared ferociously 
upon me from a bough of the very tree under which I was 
lying.' 

" Here I interrupted the brave girl, with a smiling remark. 



228 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

touching the appellation of 'painter,' by v^hich these animals 
were vulgarly known. 

" Glancing with a look of arch understanding and flattering 
confidence from my portfolio, which lay in her lap, to myself, 
she resumed, 'my first impulse was to shriek for aid, but I 
immediately remembered to have heard that the wild beast 
never attacks its prey while sleeping, and I reclosed my eyes, 
scarcely daring to respire, so intense was my fright. I remained 
thus, motionless, breathless, and terror-stricken, for an hour — 
it seemed to me a year — without venturing to look up, ex- 
cepting only once, and then I again encountered the frightful 
stare of the panther. At length, to my inexpressible delight, 
I heard the voice of my truant companion, calling my name, 
as he came nearer and nearer. But I felt it impossible to 
answer, and a new horror seized upon me when I thought of 
the risk to which he was himself exposed. My agony was too 
much, and I was upon the point of warning him of his danger, 
at the sacrifice, as I felt, of my own life, when the report of 
a gun startled me, and a heavy object seemed to fall at my 
feet, while the woods echoed with a shriek which completely 
upset my frightened senses. 

" ' When my consciousness returned, it needed but a glarrce 
to explain the happy circumstances of my escape from the 
terrible death, which, but a moment before, had seemed inevita- 
ble. My companion at my side, and the slain panther at my 
feet, told their own story, as well as he himself afterwards 
related it: how, failing in his chase for the deer, he had has- 
tened back, and seeing me motionless upon the ground, and 
the forest monster watching me from above, he had thought 
me slain, and with the quick, unerring aim of desperate ven- 
geance, had brought him to the earth. Never shall I forget 
that terrible day !' said the lady, as she finished this very 
&Q;reeable little narrative. 



DIAMOND ISLE; OR, THE STRAY GLOYE. 229 

" By this time we were approaching the hotel, and my 
heroine intimating a wish to re-enter unobserved, flitted from 
my boat and my sight, leaving me to make my debut in the 
usual mundane manner. 

" After the necessary repairs in the matter of toilet and table, 
I ventured to peep into the drawing rooms, where, among a 
large and gay assemblage, I greeted more than one old friend 
or city acquaintance. But, as I was not exactly in the vein for 
a sly flirtation by the light of a chandelier, and more especially, 
perhaps, as my unknown heroine did not make her reappear- 
ance, I again started, out in the moonlight, to talk with my 
own quickly beating heart. 

"So many thick coming hopes and fears agitated me, that 
the whole night fled in wakefulness; and, wearied wdth vain 
efforts to sleep, the early morning sun found me again a restless 
wanderer on the hill-sides. 

" Now thought I, as I returned to breakfast, I shall again 
see those fatal eyes which have so disturbed my wonted careless 
and contented thoughts. But the eyes came not, and mine 
host's famous trout went away untouched. The dinner now 
passed, and my hopes with it. Again the ball room was filled 
with sparkling eyes, and lovely forms and faces — so they told 
me — for I could see nothing, the light of my soul being still 
absent. My case \vas growing desperate, and I even caught 
myself thinking, as I looked abstractedly into the clear waters 
of the lake, how sweet it would be, to lie quietly within their 
peaceful lethean embrace. 

"Then came cruel thoughts, that my beauteous Dian had 
left all memory of me in my boat, as she stepped out; and 
again a fear seized me that she might be ill, while I was making 
no kind inquiry, and proffering no tender sympathy— and with 
these speculations it occurred to me, for the first time, to ques- 
tion my host. 



230 THE ROMANCE OP AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

"Great was mj vexation to learn, only, tliat she had 
left the hotel, and gone in the steamer down the lake while I 
was strolling disconsolately through the woods in the morning — 
at least, so my landlord supposed, for my description of the 
lady did not quite enable him to identify her. A dozen such 
ladies he said — as if the world was blessed with more than one 
— had gone off that day. 

" ' And did she leave me no message ?' I asked, more in sor- 
row than in anger. 

" ' "Who ?' said the Commodore, looking at me, with a pro- 
vokingly suspicious smile. 

" ' Ah ! how could she ?' I muttered to myself, ' not know- 
ing my name ! What a deuced fool I am to be sure !' 

" ' My dear Brownoker,' said the Commodore, ' I do not 
wish to steal your confidence, but permit me, as a friend, to 
ask whether, you are drunk, or in love.' 

" ' In love !' I ejaculated, now, for the first time, fully 
realizing the nature of my complaint, and remembering all the 
malicious looks and hints thrown at me, throughout the day, by 
my many friends. In love ! no ; but you, must be mad.' 

"' Ha! ha! ha!' bellowed the Commodore as I rushed away. 
'That's a good joke! "We must inquire into this mystery.' 

"Without awaiting the result of my host's inquiry, I stepped 
into the office, settled my bill, jumped again into my boat, re- 
passed Diamond Isle with a sigh, and never ceased tugging at 
the oar, until I had regained my quarters at Bolton. 



" It was near midnight as I re-entered the inn, and the in- 
mates had retired, excepting only a few old veterans who were 
discussing a protracted tipple. They gave me a greeting, but 
were much surprised at my speedy return, particularly those 



THE FAIR INCOGNITA. 231 

who were aware of my desire to improve my acquaintance with 
my unknown visitor. 

" In answer to the general demands for the incidents of my 
tour, I rehated the history of my encounter with the incognita, 
in the white-robed lady of Diamond Isle. 

" 'I never,' said one old toper, 'suffer any of my gals to stir 
about in that way. Out of fourteen, I never had one who—' 

" Interrupting my hearer's domestic memoirs, I narrated the 
adventures of the panther, in which every one suddenly took 
unusual interest, exchanging, as I proceeded, very significant 
and mysterious looks. 

" ' Yery remarkable,' muttered the father of a family intro- 
duced a few sentences back; 'very remarkable! When the 
carriage passed yesterday, I thought I had seen her before, 
somewhere or other; and it must have been here, for I have 
never been anywhere else.' 

"I was about to inquire what they knew of her, and her 
history, when my landlord added : 

"fl thought, too, I'd seen the gal before; but I disremem- 
ber'd who she was. That affair of the panther made a great 
stir when it happen'd, and we have always kind o' wanted to 
know what became of the lady, and if she married.' 

" ' Married!' I exclaimed; ' Oh, no ; not she !' 

" ' Why, it was said,' continued mine host, ' that she after- 
wards became the wife of the gentleman who saved her life.' 

" This very reasonable idea which had never before occurred 
to my blinded perceptions, completely put to flight all my 
dawning hopes, and I hastened to avoid any further discus- 
sion of the subject by pleading fatigue, and seeking my too 
long neglected pillow. 

"The unpleasant suspicions, which I soon learned had 
been aroused in the minds of the good people of Bolton, no 
less than among my friends at the Lake House, by my late 



232 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

aberations of mind, induced me to break ujd my camp, and 
continue my further explorations of the Lake, 

" I came to this determination the more promptly, that I 
had found, on my return, an invitation to a ball, a few evenings 
hence, at Gurfield's, near Sabbath Day Point, the very place 
which I next proposed to visit. The card came through a 
valued friend of other days, whom I had lost sight of for 
several years, but who had in some v.^ay kept better track of me. 

" Bidding a final adieu to my friends at Bolton, I proceeded 
leisurely, on foot, over the mountains to Sabbath Day Point, 
arriving at the hotel, on the very evening of the promised 
merry-making. 

" It was not long before I greeted my old friend, and re- 
counted with him the adventures of the long years, that had 
passed since we had laughed together. 

" ' And so, Harry,' I exclaimed, quite forgetful of my late 
•meditated recusancy, 'you have, like myself, the happy fortune 
to escape all Cupid's snares, and are still a joyous, hearty 
bachelor ! Aye, my boy ?' 

" ' Bachelor ! devil a bit of it, my old friend ! I've re- 
canted. I have abjured all those infamous heresies, and have 
become the luckiest Benedict alive !' 

"'Gracious heavens!' I ejaculated, with a long-drawn sigh 
of intense commiseration. ' Tell me, Harry, how it all hap- 
pened, and if the earnest sympathies of a true friend will ' 

" ' Sympathies ! ha, ha ! That's a capital joke — capital ; 
but I see, poor, deluded sinner, that you are yet in the gall 
of bitterness, and in the bonds of iniquity! Your rambles 
about Horicon have not been so fruitful as have mine. All 
my good fortune has been fished from these waters, or quarried 
in the hills. When I had the happiness to bring down that 
blessed panther, and save my Ella's life, I struck a vein 
which ' 



THE eclaircisse'ment. 233 



li ( 



oil, ye gods !' I exclaimed, as tbe fatal truth burst upon 
my mind. ' Panther ! Ella ! and were you, Harry, the hero 
of that memorable incident ; and is she — ^your wife ?' 

"'To be sure! She is'nt any thing else! Come, let us go 
and join the ladies, and you shall become better acquainted 
with Ella; for you must know that she has already met you, 
and has taken a great fancy to you. You remember the lady 
who visited your studio at Bolton, and whom you encountered 
so romantically, the same night, on Diamond Isle?' 

" ' The fact is, Harry,' I replied, in a faint, sad voice ; ' the 
fact is I am terribly fatigued by my walk to-day, and only 
came over to see you for a moment, and make my apologies 
for the necessity under which I find myself, of hastening on to 
Ticonderoga, and thence to the city.' 

"'Nonsense! nonsense! Ella would never forgive you!' 

" ' Make my compliments to her,' I cried, tearing myself 
away, and flying back to the domicil in which I had taken up 
my abode ; ' I shall meet you soon in town ; you know my 
address — cm revoir.'' 

" Before I slept that night, I addressed my treasured- glove, 

under an envelope, to 'Mrs. Henry B ,' at Gurfield's 

Hotel, and, at daybreak, was en route for home !" 



When our friends had sufficiently complimented Mr. Brown- 
oker upon his affecting story, we were malicious enough to 
hint, that his adventure seemed to be grounded upon incidents 
we had ourself once told ; to ^yhich accusation he slyly pleaded 
guilty, but justified, first upon the ground of eminent and multi- 
plied precedent. " Shakspeare, himself, you remember, was 
free enough in borrowing suggestions from others ; and sec- 
ondly," he continued, " the tale seemed to me deserving of a 
more permanent record than you had already given it, and that 



234 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

there could not be such better record than in yoiir own pages." 
In consideration of Mr. Brownoker's last flattering excuse, 
we forgave him for "stealing our thunder," and promised to 
enter the story on our minutes. And with this understanding 
the meeting adjourned. 



%=» 




CHAPTER XII. 

"The Gothamite," said Mr. Deepredde, "who for the first 
time runs up from the thronged walks of Broadway, to the 
almost unbroken wilderness of northern New York, is aston- 
ished that Nature should yet remain in such primitive solitude 
and grandeur, so near the crowded marts of commerce and 
the ceaseless hum of human life and enterprise. The moun- 
tain steeps seem strange to his Euss-pavement vision, and the 
bounding deer, or the screaming panther are droll, fellow- 
passengers for him to jostle." 

"How is it," inquired Mr. Megilp, "that so vast a territory 
as the wilderness stretching from Champlain, westward along 
all the shore of Ontario, should still remain unoccupied ?" 

" Chiefly," returned Mr. Deepredde, " from the fact that 
its rude mountainous character makes it unfit for very profit- 
able agricultural uses. Its rich mineral stores, however, have 
been turned to good account; especially the fine iron ore of 
that quarter distinctively known as the Adirondack. Here, very 
extensive works have been for a long time in successful opera- 
tion." 

"Portions of these lands," added Mr. Brownoker. "have 



236 THE EOMAJSrCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

been presented at different times as free gifts, to the negroes, 
by the philanthropist Grerritt Smith. The benefactions, how- 
ever, have in most cases been unappreciated, or, at least, 
unimproved. Be it through the natural laziness of the African, 
or from the incapacity of the situation and soil, none of the 
settlers have long held their possessions. One of these in- 
domitable fellows, it is said, joronounced Mr. Smith's land so 
poor, ' dat de grass-hopper had to go down on he knees to 
smell de clover!' Cuffee, however, is every where, and by 
nature so indolent, so wanting in enterprise, and even in 
desire, that it is a question whether he would be able to raise 
a mullen in Paradise." 

"I do not know though," said Mr. Asphaltum, " that we 
should lament the loneliness of the region. It is at present a 
noble field for the health-giving and soul-cheering recreations 
of the angle and the chase ; and in the progress of time, the 
shores of its countless beautiful lakes will become the most 
delightful of all summer resorts for our invalid and pleasure- 
seeking population," 

" For some time to come," said Mr. Blueblack, " the Adiron- 
dack region must be left to the Nimrods ; at least, until the 
floods of commerce shall sweep through the frowning moun- 
tain gorges, and the means of locomotion be greatly increased. 
Very few ladies will venture there at present. The paths are 
too rude and too narrow for the passage of the trailing robes 
and flowing skirts of fashion. What can our drawing-room 
belles do in a country which can be traversed only on foot, or 
in boats, which must every now and then be borne across the 
portages that continually break the chain of lakes ; and which 
must always confine their wardrobes to the narrow limits of a 
carpet-bag or a knapsack ; and where, too, the paths, when 
such blessings are to be found at all, are over jagged rocks, 
lost in the debris of the woods, or leading one often through 



THE ADIRONDACK. 237 

the treaclierous bogs of a beaver meadow ? And yet some 
brave women I have met here, roughing it with the stoutest, 
under canvass tent, and over rocky ways, and without any 
abatement of lady-like grace and elegance. One of these 
true women was once rowing with her husband down the 
merry current of the Saranac, when they suddenly encountered 
a monstrous bear ; to proceed was scarcely possible, since the 
animal barred the passage, while to return was quite as im 
practicable, for some rapids in the way, which they had just 
gallantly descended, were not to be re-traversed so -quickly and 
easily. As monsieur was nervou^y manoeuvering to dodge 
the beast, madame coolly seized the gun and despatching a 
ball at his ugly head, brought him down upon them with the 
added fury of hunger and passion. A terrible struggle fol-. 
lowed, in which the lady laid about her bravely with the stock 
of her musket, and monsieur greatly damaged his oars. Ex- 
hausted at length by the bleeding from the wOund made by 
madame's shot, and the persistent battery which followed, the 
animal fell heavily against the boat, cooling the heated brows 
of his captors in the startled waters." 

" Blueblack's anecdote reminds me," said Mr. Megilp, " of 
an adventurous ramble I once made through the Great Indian 
Pass. While crossing one of the many doublings of the 
Ausalle, which rises hereabouts, I was startled on seeing, 
through the thick intervening" bushes, the terrible eyes of a 
wild-cat, fixed glaringly upon me. In my alarm — for I must 
confess I was, at first, a little frightened — I was about to 
raise my gun, but as the creature seemed to move, I desisted, 
fearing to exasperate it. For a long, long time — God knows 
how long — I stood tremblingly gazing at the fixed eyes of the 
monster, while it still looked as immovingly at me. My heart 
all the while was in my mouth. As I thus watched, hour 
after hour dragging slowly by, I thought my time was come, 



238 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

and said my prayers witli unction. All my sins rose up before 
me. I thought of all the evil paths into which my friends here 
had led me, and more particularly did I repent me of certain 
unpardonable peccadilloes into which I had been tempted by 
Brownoker. Fatigue and hunger came upon me, the day 
waned, and darkness — the black darkness of the forest — ap- 
proached. I could bear it no longer, and was fairly sinking 
with exhaustion, when the" animal again moved as if to spring, 
and lifting my piece, I blazed away in desperation, and the next 
minute he fell at my feet. As soon as I dared, I proceeded to 
examine my conquered foe, and to my astonishment, large as 
he had seemed to me, glaring down from his perch, I found 
him to measure, from the head to the tip of the tail, no less 
than fifteen " 

" Whew !" cried Brownoker, whose eyes had been dancing 
with merriment, during this exciting recital, " Stop where you 
are. Megilp, lest when your time does come, it be a ' time, indeed.' 
Gentlemen, I heard the whole of this tremendous adventure 
from the lips of an old hunter in the Adirondacks, who in- 
formed me, in confidence, that the terrible panther which Me- 
gilp brought down after a whole day's parley was, simply, a 
mass of swinging debris: bark, moss, and fungi, into which 
some scraps of glittering mica, which he mistook for savage 
eyes, had been blown by the wind." 

" But my dear Brownoker, you see — " 

" No use, my good fellow ! Confess, and throw yourself 
upon the mercy of the court ! "When released from his dur- 
ance of mortal fear, our poor friend could no longer find his 
way home in the darkness, and he was compelled to listen all 
night, cold and supperless, to the dainty serenade of the 
wolves ! Don't say a word Megilp, or I shall remember the 
cigars which you picked up at Gilsey's, when we were once loun- 
ging down Broadway, and which you, meeting me some hours af- 



HUNTING AND FISHING. 239 

terwards, offered to me as extraordinary Havannas, given you 
by your particular friend, Don Jose Calderon de la Humbuo-- 
gios, just arrived from the Antilles !" 

Megilp, solemnly insisted upon the truth of his story, and 
tlie gross malice of Brownoker, but not successfully enough 
to stay the general laugh at the unlooked-for denouement. 

" Blueblack is right," said Vermeille, " in leaving our north- 
ern wilderness, for many years to come, to the uses of the 
sportsmen. And great, indeed, are its capabilities in this wise. 
Eowing through the thousand little lakes here, often have we 
pulled up to lunch on some inviting island shore, when our 
guide has suggested to us the propriety of raking up material 
for a fire, while he should throw in his line, and take a few 
trout ; and seldom was it that some half dozen of the sparkling 
gentry were not spread upon our primitive griddle of forked 
twigs, quite as soon as the fire was ready to receive them. I have 
seldom ventured out for a stroll without crossing the path of a 
deer. And with good dogs, a successful morning's sport is 
always to be had. On Tupper's Lake, one of the most pictur- 
esque of the Saranac group, a party of hunters took, recentl}^, 
no less than twenty-nine deer and one moose in a period of 
eight consecutive days. A veteran angler from old Scotia, accus- 
tomed to fishing in the ancient reflective Izaak Walton fash- 
ion, went off from this neighbourhood in high disgust at the 
superabundance of the fish. He was too deeply penetrated 
with a sense of the dignity and difl&culty of his art, to see it, like 
French, Spanish, Italian, and other once serious studies, ' made 
easy' at that rate. 

" The people here, support themselves by hunting, and by 
the fees they receive as guides to amateur Nimrods. Their 
usual charge, where the visitor keeps such game as may be 
caught, is from two to three dollars a day, for boat, guide, and 
dogs — the guide rowing, hunting, cooking, carrying the boat 



240 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAlSr LANDSCAPE. 

across the portages, and making himself generally useful as man 
of all work You may accompany the hunters, simply to wit- 
ness the sport, or even to assist therein, without price, they 
finding their account in the moderate charge they will make 
you for board in their little inns and cabins. Accompanied by 
a friend, I once made a cruise of some weeks on the Saranac 
lakes. We furnished our own provisions, while the guide sup- 
plied boat, baggage, tents, and utensils, dogs and ammunition, 
and for his manifold services received from us two dollars per 
day. 

" These guides, who are hearty honest fellows, most often, 
of strong individuality of character, like to serve a clever and 
intelligent employer, but your gauche cockney excites their ire. 
I heard many stories while among them, of a certain sporting 
person who went into the region, originally, to save souls, but 
very soon found it much more amusing to kill deer. 

"Uncle Moore, as he was familiarly known among his 
mountain parishioners, was a mighty and inexorable hunter. 
He went it unceasingly, from night to morn, from morn to 
dewy eve. It was not his unwearying enthusiasm which 
offended the guides, but his utter want of the true genial spirit 
of the chase. He had no love or consideration whatever for 
the poor victims. He would simply slaughter them, when he 
could, by hecatombs, and merely preserving the skins as tro- 
phies, leave them to rot at leisure. This wholesale and useless 
destruction was forever exposing him to the blessings of the 
guides. They were always glad of an opportunity to mar his 
plans and destroy his sport. AVhen his piece was poised, they 
would manage unobserved to frighten away the game ; or they 
would mislead him into fields, as barren cf deer as they were 
toilsome of access. 

" No opportunity of annoying or quizzing old Uncle Moore 
was suffered to pass unimproved. On one unpropitious occa- 



UNCLE MOOEE's NIGHT HUNT. 241 

sion he must perforce go fortli on a niglit hunt. The sky 
was threatening, and no sooner was the boat pushed off, than 
a settled and persisting rain set in. After a fruitless pursuit 
for some hours, during which time they were well soaked, and 
the boat well lined with water, they neared an island shore, 
and the guide suggested the propriety of running in and lying 
hj for better weather. 

" ' 0, no !' said the invincible dominie. ' I guess we had 
better keep on ! It's only a shower, and we shall scare up 
something soonl' 

" The guide was silent, then, as through another hour, 
during which time the storm had increased, and the navigation 
was becoming as perilous, as it had long been uncomfortable. 
Uncle Moore was evidently getting tired of his bargain, and 
he looked from the black sky to the dim shore occasionally, 
as though he knew which of the tv/o he would prefer, if he 
were asked. But the guide pulled on, and did not ask him. 
He saw Uncle Moore's uneasiness, and he maliciously resolved 
not to come to his aid ; on the contrary, he was careful to 
approach, continually, within tempting distance of the shore, 
and then pull directly away. At last, the parson's valour was 
exhausted, and when the boat again neared the land, he re- 
marked, obligingly : — 

" ' Well, Bill, as you were saying, the weather does look 
rather bad, and, on second thought, I am not certain that it 
would not be best for us, as you suggest, to lie by awhile.' 

"'Aye!' said Bill, looking up distractedly from his mus- 
ings. ^ What did you say. Uncle Moore ?' 

" ' I was observing,' reiterated the afflicted dominie, ' that 
I think it is possible you may be in the right about holding 
\ up a ' 

" ' dear, no, Uncle Moore,' said Bill, in a tone of aston- 
ishment. ' We musn't think of such a thing ! Lie by ! nonsense ! 
16 



242 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

Why you know it's only a shower, and we shall be sure to 
scare up something soon !' 

" ' Scare up our death-a-cold !' muttered the martyred parson, 
too proud to take the responsibility of backing-out upon his 
own shoulders. 

" And again, and again, the boatman presented a Tantalus' 
cup to the dominie's lips, in a hasty glimpse of the shore. 
Eound and about, like the craft of the ancient mariner, went 
the phantom boat all that weary night, until at last, they 
scared up daylight and sunshine, and the exhausted parson 
was allowed to step ashore. 

" ' I was determined,' said the guide to me, as he finished 
his story, ' that the old fellow should enjoy his shower !' " 

" Yermeille's reminiscences of the Saranac, remind me," 
said Mr, Brownoker, " of a devil of a tramp I once had with a 
friend thence through the woods to the Adirondack. By the rough 
route we followed, the distance to the Iron Works was but twenty- 
five miles, whereas the dry beaten path would have taken us 
back again to our starting point on Lake Champlain, and led 
us a roundabout journey of a hundred miles. The passage 
through the forest was deemed scarcely practicable, but shoul- 
dering our knapsacks, we ventured upon it. It so happened, 
unfortunately, that the usual diflQculties of the way were at the 
moment greatly increased by the late heavy rains, which had 
fearfully swollen the brooks and destroyed the footing. Our 
first day's march, passed off well enough, leading as it did for 
the most part, over a tolerably beaten trail. We brought up for 
the night, at the cabin of an intelligent settler, in a pleasant 
valley, bravely sentinelled at all points by the chief veterans 
of the Adirondacks and their allies. Here, was again seen the 
grotesque outline of the Crotchet Mountain, which had formed 
so prominent a feature in all our pictures on the Saranac lakes. 
Yonder shone the bald pate of the White Face, and farther 



A TRAMP IN" THE WOODS. 243 

removed, and prouder tlian all, rose tlie ' skj-piercing' cone 
of the renowned Tahanous. As we retired for the night, the 
weather was still extremely threatening, and so, too, when we 
arose the next morning, but to accomplish the long day's work 
it was necessary that we should start too early to learn the 
doubtful purpose of the clouds towards us. At day-break, our 
host put us upon the trail, bidding us to follow the opening in 
the forest, which had been made years before in the construc- 
tion of a winter road. As this path was only intended for 
use when deep snows buried the ground, the stumps had been 
suffered to remain in such wise that it was hardly more passable, 
at this season, than the untouched woods. The undergrowth, 
too, had encroached so much, as to continually obscure the 
clearing. The way leading along the base of the hills, and by 
the brook-sides, carried us everywhere through deep swamps. 
We were soon wet through from battling with the dripping 
bushes, without the further aid of a dense and dreary Scotch 
mist, which soon came on, and grew heavier and darker 
through all the endless day. At first we stepped over the 
crowded puddles with careful daintiness; after the passage of 
half a mile, however, we were quite content to sink in the 
mire no deeper than our ankles, and, wlien a mile had passed 
away, we cried 'Eureka,' at an occasional glimpse of our 
boot-tops. It wafi a weary way, and toilsome. The miles 
seemed magnified to leagues, and tired, as we soon grew, we 
were yet too much soaked and chilled to stop for rest. We 
kept up our sinking spirits by mutual raillery upon our woe- 
begone appearance, and by now and then— when the rain-drops 
slackened— caricaturing each other in our sketch-books. Our 
host had warned us, that near the middle of our march we 
should bring up on the shore of some lakes, around which 
no road had been cut, as they have crossed always on the ice. 
To circumnavigate their intervening waters, we, of course, 



244 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

blunderingly took tlie wrong side. Fearful that night would 
come upon us, before our journey should be ended, we dashed 
on, manfully, over rock and fallen tree, occasionally following 
a trail, which after a couple of hours' struggle, conducted us 
to a ruined bark shanty, on the shore of the lake, provokingly 
near the point from which we had started. Here we feared 
we should be compelled to pass the night: no very charm- 
ing prospect in our total want of provisions, with no means 
of kindling a fire, and with no arms to defend ourselves against 
the wolves, with which we knew the woods were filled. Look- 
ing out forlornly upon the troubled waters, doubly ghastly 
at this twilight hour, amid the sad drapery of the storm, we 
at last, as good luck would have it, espied a solitary fisherman 
in the dim distance. My companion made the woods echo 
with his shouts, but his voice was drowned in the wailing of 
the winds. I came to the rescue with an unearthly yell, 
which startled the woods, themselves, no less than it electrified 
my friend. 'That's the thing,' he cried, delighted at the 
effect ; ' do that again, I can 't : it will fetch him to a fraction ;' 
and 'fetch him,' it very happily did. He turned out to be an 
inhabitant of the settlement, come forth for a daj^'s trouting. 
We soon explained our dilemma, and secured his services to 
conduct us to our destination. 

" ' You never could have got 'round on that side in the 
world,' said he, as we told him of our efforts to regain the 
path, on the opposite side of the ponds. 'Just a little ways 
beyond, you would have come to some rocks a hundred feet 
right " upendicular," which you wouldn't have circumvented in 
a month.' 

" Taking passage in the ricketty canoe, we passed the lakes, 
and arrived, with the darkness, at the little settlement at the 
Iron Works, where we speedily hung ourselves to dry by the 
grateful fires of the rambling inn — a wretched place enough. 



THE ADIRONDACKS. 245 

but to US a palace at that moment. In the satisfaction of our 
hearts, we liberally rewarded our Charon, mentally repeating 
the verses, 

Take oh boatman, thrice thy fee, 

Take, I give it willingly ; 

For, invisibly to thee. 

Spirits, twain, have crossed with me. 

Spirits of renewed life and hope, which grew and brightened 
with the pleasures of our subsequent rambles in the vicinage; 
for the Iron Works is the centre of that wide area of the pic- 
turesque, famous under the name of the Adirondacks. In close 
proximity on each side of this little social oasis in the wilder- 
ness, are the beautiful lakes Henderson and Sandford. The 
shores of these waters are everywhere bold and picturesque 
in outline, commanding admirable views of all the principal 
mountains, and affording many varied glimpses of the great 
walls of the Indian Pass. The soaring crown of Tahanous, 
or Mount Marcy as it is sometimes vulgarly called, we reached 
from this centre. Near by, also, is Cheny's Lake, named in 
honour of the famous hunter, of whom Headley and Lanman 
have given us so many agreeable stories ; and Avalanche Lake, 
a darksome pool, into which Mount Golden has rudely put 
his foot. 

" But to review all the points of interest here, would steal 
the hours which some of us can, no doubt, occupy more agree- 
ably with other recital. If I remember aright, I once heard 
Asphaltum winning the love of a fair circle with some story, 
true or fanciful, no matter which, about an old solitaire he 
encountered among these hills." 

" By all means," said Mr. Deepredde, " let us hear the expe- 
rience of Asphaltum. The solitudes of the Adirondacks are just 
the scenes for such a dismal yarn as he would spin." 



246 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

"As the chairman desires to say," observed Mr. Asphaltum, 
" the spirit of our wildernesses is not much in accord with 
flippant chat or gay adventure, and yet its voice is grateful to 
the ear which can hear. If it pleases you, I will recall what I 
can, of my recollections of 



" The stranger will do well not to venture alone into the 
intricate forests of the Adirondacks, Once lost in the pathless 
woods, he is beyond the help of the town crier. Even the 
genius of Yidocq would fail to discover him. 

" It was my ill -fortune, on my first arrival here, to find 
the few professed guides pre-engaged, and the rest of the good 
folks too much occupied, by their own affairs, to accompany 
me very often in my wanderings. 

" ' If,' said the honest mountaineer with whom I had taken 
up my quarters, ' If you could only get the doctor, now, to 
go along — but its no use talking about that — though, to be 
sure, he does sometimes take a sort o' liking to painting and 
writing people like you — but it don't often happen.' 

" ' Who is this doctor ?' I asked, with no little curiosity, 
having already, during my brief residence on the mountains, 
often heard his name vaguely mentioned. 

" ' lie hasn't lived here long,' continued my host, not heed- 
ing my question, ' but there's not a man among us knows the 
woods as he docs. lie seems to be at home, like, in the 
mountains — they're sort o' brothers and sisters to him, and yet 
he wasn't raised among 'em. They say he is from the cities, 
and knows more than all the *fine people that comes here put 
together.' 



THE HERMIT OF THE ADIRONDACKS. 247 

'' * And why cannot I get liis lielp, if lie's not otherwise 
en2;a2;ed ?' 

" ' O, bless you ! he isn't a guide, though he sometimes 
goes out with folks when he takes a fancy to 'em. lie just 
lives to suit himself sometimes in the woods, or all alone with 
that old negro he brought with him, who's just as mum as 
his master ; and that's mum enough, for he never says a 
word about himself, and never has anything to do with any- 
bodv, more than he can help, except when folks is sick or in 
trouble, and then he's sure to be on hand, and a kinder-hearted 
man at such times, or a better doctor, I never seed or read on.' 

" ' Ah ! he's a physician, then ?' 

" ' Well, I can't tell what he was afore he came here, but, 
as I was saying, he knows pretty much everything; and folks 
don't stay sick long after he comes.' 

" ' Ah,' I said to myself, discovering a mare's nest, ' he 
asks no fee ?' 

" ' He soon sets 'em up, and then flies off, and we don't see 
anything m.ore of him 'till trouble comes again.' 

" This, and subsequent conversations Avith my host, and 
others, about their eccentric neighbour, 'the doctor,' as he 
was simply called, aroused my curiosity, and won my interest 

the first, when I supposed him to be some soured old 

misanthrope, whom the world loved not, because he had never 
loved the world ; and the second, as the genuine, if not genial 
regard for his fellows, displayed in his sympathy with their 
afflictions, if not with their joys, led me to picture him to my 
heart, as a noble and delicate nature, which the winds of ad- 
versity had visited too roughly: a nature bowed down and 
hallowed by the too heavy pressure of sorrow. 

"That it was not simply a passion for the pleasures of 
forest life, but rather the remembrance of some hidden grief, 
which had brought and kept him here, was sufficiently evi- 



248 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAK" LANDSCAPE. 

denced by his solitary existence, liis habitually grave mood; 
and his careful avoidance of all society in its light and happ^r 
hours. 

" My desire to learn more of the unknown, was only in- 
creased by the utter failure of all my efforts to make his 
acquaintance. At length, accident served me, where my wit 
had been unsuccessful. A cold, which I had caught through 
unwise exposure to the mountain storms, ended in a violent 
fever, and long days of delirium ; and the first object which 
my eyes rested upon, when I awoke to consciousness, was a 
strange face, so earnest and thoughtful in its character, so 
expressive in all its lineaments, so peculiar in its strong indi- 
viduality, so exactly, indeed, in everything, except in its 
youthfulness, the face which my fancy had painted as that of 
the mysterious doctor, that I felt sure it could be none but 
he, who was bending over me w^ith such deep and grave 
interest. 

"I had been long disposed to like him, and now, gratefully 
remembering the service he had just rendered me, I pressed 
his hand with all my feeble strength. 

" ' Ah !' said he, coldly, and hastily withdrawing from the 
bed. ' He will do well enough now, without my further care. 
Give him the medicine as I have directed, and if he should 
not continue to improve, let me know,' and the doctor van- 
ished. 

" This chilling rejection of my friendly advances did not 
<yrieve me, as it would have done, had I not known something 
of the doctor's humour; and, I was still further consoled, on 
learning afterwards, that he called, at intervals, to ask after 
my health, and occasionally visited me in my sleeping mo- 
ments. 

" As my health returned, I resumed my explorations of 
the mountains — the more indefatigably, in the hope of encoun- 



THE HERMIT OF THE ADIRONDACKS. 249 

teriug the doctor, who, I well knew, spent most of his time 
out of doors, hunting, fishing, sketching, or in lonelj musings, 
Mj cherished object was gTadually gained. Here, and there, 
in the wildest glens and hill-tops, I occasionally came upon 
the solitaire. From the exchange of simple and brief civilities, 
these interviews grew into continued conversations, and, at 
last, they reached an intimacy which brought us continually to- 
gether. 

" The simple curiosity which had first prompted me to 
search the causes which led the exile into a mode of life, so 
unsuited to his talents and prospects, changed into a worthier 
and more earnest motive, as I began to feel the beauty of his 
character, and the splendour of his genius — perceptions which 
grew upon me with every new day's study and observation. 
A sincere friendship now urged me to fathom the secret of 
his unrest, that I might bring to him, if not relief, at least a 
soothing sympathy. 

" ' What,' I continually asked myself, is the heavy cloud 
which forever darkens his thoughts. That no crime weio'hed 
upon his conscience, I knew well enough. He was incapable 
of wilful wrong to any, unless to himself. A selfish and 
morose temperament I was sure it could not be, for his nature 
was gentle, hopeful, and loving ; deep, not boisterous ; earnest 
but not demonstrative. Thwarted ambition it was not, for he 
possessed the youth and genius, Vhich might confidently aspire 
to the highest fame. Neither could poverty be the fatal druo' 
at the bottom of his poisoned cup, since he seemed to set but 
little value upon riches, or any of the pleasures at their com- 
mand : and there was evidently within his reach gold enouo-h, 
at least, for all his desires. 

" There remained but one other influence — the only one 
indeed, powerful enough to so deeply affect and crush a strength 
like his. ' Here, then, lies the secret,' said I — but you shall 



250 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

have tlie brief, sad tale, in his own words, as he told it to me, 
in an hour and mood of tearful confidence. 

"It was a fearful night, and so wild was the storm, that 
being unable to regain my own home, I was compelled, not 
unwillingly, to accept the hospitality of the solitaire, at whose 
jealously guarded cottage I had been passing the day. 

" A long conversation upon the nature and philosophy of 
life — the variety, weight, and value of its duties and delights, 
its hopes and fears — had led us to consider all the thousand 
impulses and desires which fill and stir the human heart. 

" ' The only real happiness, the only true life,' said my friend, 
as the night waned, ' lies, after all, in the culture and develop- 
ment of the affectionate part of our nature. In the degree 
it may contribute to this growth, the humblest object becomes 
ennobled and hallowed ; while, without this end, the loftiest and 
proudest possession and achievement is but an idle vanity. Love 
is the soul of content and pleasure in this life, as it is the 
evidence to our minds, and the hope to our hearts, of another 
higher and more lasting existence : — love in all its degrees of 
manifestation — from the cold sense of duty, which leads us to 
perform our role in life honestly and justly — to the tempest of 
passion, in which our very being is merged in that of another.' 

" ' Then, why,' said I, ' will you not be happy yourself in the 
cultivation of this subtle, perfumed flower of love? If I read 
your character truly, there are few natures better fitted to give 
and to win its virgin sympathy and devotion,' 

" ' My friend,' said the doctor, in a deep and earnest voice, 
and affectionately grasping my proffered hand, 'you have, I 
am certain, truly divined the hidden secret which I never 
thought to betray to any living soul, and which it has been 
my unceasing task to hide even from my own thoughts. I 
have cultivated that magic flower of love — watered it with all 
the fervour and devotion of my heart, and drank in its intoxica- 



THE HERMIT OF THE ADIRONDACKS. 251 

ting; fraOTance, until the wliole -world has seemed filled with 
its loveliness. Then I was strong and invincible in will, and 
effort, and hope, fearing nothing, and daring all things. Then — 
but why recall those joyous hours only to make the present 
weary days yet more desolate ?' 

"'And if the flower withered in its beauty,' said I, 'will 
not the same breath give life to another?' 

" ' "Would that it had withered, for then the dead leaves 
would have remained to me, as a consolation and a hope. But 
it lived alas! — ^lived to kill, with its false and poisonous 
odour, the tender trust which it beguiled with a too rash life. 
Ah, my friend, you have never blindly groped in the black 
darkness which follows the setting of a sun like mine. 

" ' Suns set to rise again, if we will but open our eyes to the 
dawning light, and the longest night has still the sweet, if less 
glowing, radiance of moon and stars to guide and cheer our 
way.' 

" 'The first crushing bitterness of my sorrow past,' con- 
tinued the doctor, 'my pride, my manhood, and my reason 
all pointed to that softer light of which you speak, and the 
struggle of my life has since been, to grow content in the 
enjoyment of such poorer pleasures as it still left me. To this 
end I have sought to forget, in the quiet of the old woods, all 
the thoughts and scenes of the bitter past, and to fill my heart 
with new and less treacherous loves. I have learned many a 
lesson, not only of patience, but of hope, in the study of the 
useful page of Kature : learned to speak calmly to you, a stranger, 
of emotions that once maddened me when whispered to my 
own ears. Perhaps I may, in time, grow strong in their peace- 
ful teachings, to resume my place, and play my part in the 
great theatre of life.' 

" More than once, during this dialogue, had we stopped to 
remark the progress of the storm which had detained me at the 



252 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

doctor's hearth, and which in its desolate spirit had, no doubt, 
much contributed to induce his unexpected confidence. I was 
about to question him more particularly of the circumstances 
which had so terribly and disastrously affected his life and 
character, not without a vague hope that all might yet be well, 
when our attention was arrested by what seemed to us the 
sound of human voices mingling with the mourning winds. 

" ' Our fears have deceived us,' said the doctor ; ' this is 
a lonely neighbourhood, and it is seldom that a traveller passes, 
even in the sunshine. Certainly, at this hour, and in such a 
tempest, no one — ' 

" At this moment, the fancied voices came to us again, 
and now in unmistakable calls for help, and, immediately after- 
wards, there followed a loud and violent rapping at the door. 

" 'Well, well,' said the doctor in answer to my inquiring look, 
as I moved to admit the strangers, ' it would be brutish to refuse 
hospitality on such a night, but I cannot play the host until, 
at least, I know who are . my guests. Serve me, my friend, 
now, as you have often done before, and take my place as master 
of the house.' 

" While thus speaking, the doctor slipped into his j)rivate 
sanctum, and, unbolting the door, I admitted the benighted travel- 
lers. 

" To my surprise, my eyes fell not upon weather-bound 
hunters, but upon an elderly gentleman and a young lady, evi- 
dently little ased to such rude travel. 

" Without stopping for a word of greeting, the father, as he 
seemed to be, wheeled a lounge up to the blazing fire — for fires 
are often needed in the summer time here — upon which he 
eagerly placed the half conscious girl, and sought to revive her 
by assurances of safety and comfort. 

"While removing the numerous shawls and handkerchiefs 
in which she was half stifled, a miniature fell unobserved to 



THE HERMIT OF THE ADIEONDACKS. 253 

the floor, wliich, not wishing to disturb the anxious cares of 
the traveller, I placed silently upon the table. 

" ' I am sorry to intrude upon you so unceremoniously,' said 
the stranger at last, and when the invalid seemed somewhat 
more at ease; 'but our carriage has been broken in the dark- 
ness of the night and the roughness of your mountain roads, 
and we had no alternative except to wait for morning in the 
woods.' 

" As I uttered a few words of the cordial welcome which 
I felt, the old man cast a wondering look over the apartment, 
evidently surprised at its unexpected elegance. His perplexity 
seemed to increase, as his eye fell upon the books and pictures, 
and other objects of taste and luxury which filled the adjoin- 
ing room, the door of which the doctor had left open in his 
hasty retreat. 

"But his whole care was again demanded by the suffering 
girl, who grew every moment more and more indisposed. A 
violent fever appeared to have seized her, and very soon her 
mind wandered, and she talked, incoherently, now of the scenes 
through which she had just passed, and then, of misfortunes and 
sorrows of years ago. 

" ' The poor child,' said the father, as we bent over the 
invalid, ' has known affliction even in her young life, and des- 
pite all my jealous care. I brought her hither to distract her 
troubled thoughts, and to recruit her enfeebled health ; and 
now, alas ! I fear that I have but hastened the terrible fatality 
which I have so long dreaded. 0, would that there were a 
physician near!' 

" ' Thank heaven ! your wish is not in vain,' I cried, 
turning to seek the solitaire, whose medical skill I had not 
before thought of 

" But the doctor had anticipated me, and was already bend- 
ing earnestly over the sick girl. 



254 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAIT LANDSCAPE. 

" ' You !' ejaculated tlie old man, starting back witli sur- 
prise and fear, as tlie hermit stood before her. ' Good heavens ! 
what does all this mean — where am I ?' 

"But the doctor was too much occupied with his patient 
to heed the words. Flying, almost, in his eagerness, he sought 
some medicines, which he as hastily and nervously administered. 

" ' Save her ! save her !' cried the old man, ' for it is you 
who have killed her !' 

" ' I, who have killed her ! I, who would have given my 
life to serve her idlest pleasure !' 

" ' Yes, you ! By your unreasonable doubts, and your in- 
sane folly, crediting the rumours of the world, above her own 
pure and truthful nature. Listen to her wild ravings ! What 
does she say? Is a love which can be so wounded, and yet 
so devoted, to be trampled upon at the first idle breath of 
slander ?' 

" The poor solitaire did listen, and his strong frame, invigo- 
rated by unceasing exercise in the forest air, shook like a reed 
with the deep agitation of his thought. Anguish and joy, 
remorse and hope, seemed alternately to tear his sOul. 

" Tremblingly clutching the pulse of the sick girl, he seized 
the old man's hand, and he gasped, ' Forgive me, and teach her, 
too, to pardon, for I — I also have suffered !' 

" ' Alas, alas !' was the only response of the sorrowing 
parent, ' she will not live to pardon.' 

" ' Not live ! She shall live !' cried the doctor, in a tone 
of such indomitable will, as of itself to bring hope to the old 
man's heart. 

" I had opened the fallen locket, and the picture within 
would alone have told me part of the tale which this scene 
unfolded, and which the wondering and happy eyes of the 
invalid concluded when they opened with returning conscious- 
ness, and rested upon the expressive face of the young doctor. 



THE HERMIT OF THE ADIRONDACKS. 255 

"I need not pursue my narrative, to tell you of the fair 
traveller's recovery, of the mutual explanations whicli followed, 
of the changed humour of the melancholy hermit, and of the 
ultimate loss to the Adirondacks of one of the most interesting 
and usefal of its population." 



" Certainly a very affecting and instructive story," said Mr, 
Brownoker, " but I wonder, that in all my long rambles in the 

Adirondacks, I never should have heard a syllable of the 

wonderful hermit, and have never once set eyes upon his 
mysterious cottage orne," 

" That," replied Mr. Asphaltum, " is because you do not 
see things with the true poetic vision." 

"A primrose by the river's brim, • 
A yellow primrose is to bim ; 
And it is nothing more," 

said Professor Scumble, as our friends, like Dr. Blimber's 
pupils, began to " ooze away." 




Miiiiii iiiiii 



CHAPTER XIII. 

"Nothing more easy," said Mr. Megilp, "now that we are 
leaving the Adirondacks, than to push across the sunny waters 
of Lake Champlain, into the comfortable domains of 'Down 
East.' The change, too, from the privations of our late rough 
hunting grounds, to the sleek comforts of New England domes- 
ticity, will make a welcome contrast." 

" Patience, my dear fellow," said the Spartan chair. " That 
is a honne houche to be kept for the last. In the mean time, 
we have to run over that important pictorial sub-section of the 
republic, which the geographies call the Middle States, and 
of which Pennsylvania is the 'key-stone,' and little Delaware, 
and most maligned New Jersey, valuable ' bricks.' Maryland, 
too, though appertaining in some respects to the Southern 
household, is a near cousin of this branch of the family. And 
our own glorious home, which comes under the same classifica- 
tion, claims yet a tribute from our hands, in addition to the 
many pleasant things we have been already constrained to say 
of her. But the natural beauties of the Empire State are so 
various, and of such pre-eminent interest, that we cannot pre- 
tend to do more than glance at them. On our way to Pennsyl- 
17 



258 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

vania, we can deliglit our souls with the world-wide grandeur 
of the highlanded Hudson, and the verdant slopes and rugged 
bluffs of the untiring Catskills ; neither of which leading 
episodes in our landscape, have we yet deigned to notice. 
Fortunately for us, they are both so familiarly known, as to 
require only passing mention. 

"We have in our portfolio a beautiful picture of the Cats- 
kill region, from the magic pencil of our revered Prince of 
Landscapists — the lamented Cole.* The scene is a memorable 
one, lying near the mouth of the Catskill creek, those pictur- 
esque waters, which after dropping, in so many romantic and 
renowned cascades, through the gorges and glens of the noble 
hills westward, lend such additional charms to the sweet valley 
of the Hudson, in their gleesome journey to the great river. 
The material for pictorial study is so abundant and rich among 
the Catskills, that their summits and cloves have always been 
a favourite summer studio for our painters. Most of us have 
passed live-long months in their solitary glens. I was, myself, 
at one time, sketching here by the road-side, with two or three 
fellow daubers, at intervals, hard by, when casting my eye 
upon a passing vehicle, I descried the person, and caught the 
voice, of a city acquaintance. Amused to meet me so unex- 
pectedly, after he had successively encountered my companions, 
he exclaimed, calling me by name : 

" ' Halloa ! is that you Deepredde ? Now, by the gods, 
I have often heard that these hills are infested by painters- 
vulgarism for panther — and I must, at last, believe the story !' 

"Frequently in traversing a gorge of the Catskills, every 
turn has either brought me upon an enraptured student, or has 
shown me the traces of one, in an unfinished canvass, carefully 
secreted in the cavities of the rocks; or in scattered egg-shells 
and other restes of their frugal noon-tide bivouacs." 

* See Vignette. 



THE ALMA MATER OF THE PAINTERS. 259 

"Ah, you touch a happy chord now in the painter's expe- 
rience," said Mr. Flakewhite. " Those genial days of summer 
vagabondage, wandering with sketch-box and staff over quiet 
smiling hill and dale, with no thoughts but those of beauty 
and pleasure : unmindful alike of coy patrons and snarling 
critics." 

"The Catskills were a cherished haunt of our great Cole, 
who lived and died in their namesake village, near by," resumed 
the chairman. " Many of his finest pictures were studied here ; 
and here he gathered much of the material of his famous epics 
of ' The Course of Empire,' and ' The Voyage of Life.' Here, 
too, our beloved living leader, Durand, who, with Cole and 
Doughty, form the great j)arent triumvirate of the present prom 
ising school of American landscapists, has studied with immor- 
tal success. 

"All the younger painters, too, have drunk deeply of the 
same inspiring fountain. Here, Cropsey and Kensett have 
lovingly pored over the intricate and marvellous wonders of 
running waters and mossy rocks. Here, Church has looked 
abroad upon the glories of the rising and the setting sun. Here, 
too, Gifford has gathered strength for great achievement ; while 
Casilear, and Gignoux, and Huntington, and Boutelle, and 
Hubbard, and Hart, and Cranch, with many others of our gifted 
brothers, look back to the Catskills as the kind alma mater of 
their professional life. 

" But we linger too long. Farewell, gallant hills ! and all 
hail ! ye brave brotherhood, down there in the grand passes of 
the Highlands ! ye rugged Breakneck ! ye storied Crownest ! 
and ye venerable old Dunderburg ! Welcome all, ye hundred 
sweet whispers of stirring history, and poetic tradition, which, 
everywhere, reach us from wave and shore, as we float over 
the deep clear waters towards the busy city." 

" While Deepredde makes his way down the Hudson," 



260 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

said Mr. Yermeille, "I, with your good leave, will take another 
route, following the rapid rail, via Trenton and Gennesee, to 
Niagara, and returning, through that world of winsome scenery, 
upon the upper Susquehanna, and the hill-caged Delaware, 
traversed by the five hundred iron miles of the Erie Eoad. 

"The great cataract is beyond my eulogy. I cannot do 
justice to the subject, as the celebrated swearer said, turning 
despairingly to the crowd of expectant arching, when on reach- 
ing the brow of a weary hill, the back-board of his apple-cart 
gave way, and all its treasured contents rolled down again to 
the bottom. So we will leave Niagara to thunder its own great 
glory. 

"The long route of the Brie Eailway has opened a region 
of very changeful character. Here you dash through the broad 
valleys, watered by the Susquehanna and its affluents, and 
past the numberless quiet lakes of "Western New York; and 
anon, you are buried in the wilderness of the brawling Dela- 
ware. While the chairman makes his way to the landscape of 
the Keystone State, through New Jersey, or via Philadelphia 
and Harrisburg, I will cut across the country, from some point 
on the Erie Road, and meet him in the fau- Yallfey of Wyoming, 
that first of Nature's altars there." 

"We could not have a better rendezvous," said Mr. Deep- 
redde, "than fair Wyoming, the home of the mythical Gertrude, 
and the culminating point of the picturesque on the Susque- 
hanna, the noblest of those graphic rivers which form the chief 
sources of natural beauty in the Keystone State. She has no 
lake scenery except some fifty miles of the waters of the great 
Erie on her north-western boundary, though the stranger looking 
down, in early morning from the hill-tops, to the beds of dense, 
white fog spread over the low grounds, might think otherwise, 
until he grew wiser. It is only thus in our fancy that we may 
here see, as Campbell's noted vision saw, ' Lake after hike, 



THE RIVEE3 OP PENNSYLVANIA. 261 

interminably gleam.' Slie lias no striking cascades either, and 
her best mountain and valley views are seen from her river 
levels, or from the neighbouring heights ; but the charming phy- 
sique of the Susquehanna, the "West Branch, and the Juniata — 
of the Delaware and its affluents, the Lehigh and the Schuylkill, 
is rich compensation for what she has not. 

"The two great branches of the Susquehanna unite at the 
pleasant village of Northumberland, of which our portfolio 
furnishes us an agreeable picture, by the veteran Bartlett. 
Through the whole course of these arms, and thence to the 
Chesapeake Bay, it is more or less attractive; though its 
finest portions are above the junction — perhaps at Wyoming, 
and yet more particularly within the ten or twelve miles imme- 
diately south of that ce]ebrated valley. At this point, the 
mountain shores soar to a bold and commanding height, and 
are exceedingly graceful in their lines: while the wooded 
islands, of liberal occurrence, add infinitely to the picturesque 
effect. "Wyoming, which is an extremely fertile plain of twenty 
miles extent, is usually seen by tourists from the high hills 
back of the village of Wilkesbarre, though the most pleasing, 
if not the widest, view is to be had from the lofty grounds 
near Nanticoke, at the lower extremity of the valley, and at the 
entrance of that varied passage of the river to which I have 
just referred. Here the current is narrow, and, excepting when 
broken by shoals or rapids, is of unusual depth. Lower down, 
the river bed widens greatly, sometimes forming broad lake- 
like reaches. There sand-bars stretch out for a long distance, 
and so shallow, often, is the water, that the cattle groups, in 
hot summer days, wander out so far from the shore that they 
look like small moving islands. 

"The Juniata, one of the chief tributaries of the Susque- 
hanna, though inferior to that stream in pictorial wealth, is still 
stored with effective and winsome scenes. Mr. Murray, the dis- 



262 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

tinguished Engiisli tourist, Scaid, after liis first view of tliis fine 
river, ' To mj sliame be it spoken, I never heard of the Juniata 
until this day.' " 

"The blue Juniata," said Scumble, humming, sotto voce, 
the popular air of that name. 

" It flows like most of its sister waters through fertile lime- 
stone valleys, shadowed by mountain ridges, in which iron 
ore is always abundant. None of these rivers are navigable, 
excepting the Delaware to Philadelphia. But canals have long 
followed their windings, and now railways are speedily increas- 
ing the facilities of travel and transportation." 

" Allow me a moment," said Mr, Megilp, " to recall a thought 
of the pleasant days which I have passed on the Delaware, and 
particularly at that imposing scene, the great "Water-gap. At this 
point, the river traverses the Blue Eidge thr9ugh a grand gorge 
of two miles extent. On all sides, it is here heinmed in by huge 
precipices, which tower to the lofty height of twelve hundred, 
and even sixteen hundred feet, while space is scarcely left for 
public Avay between their base and the water. Seen from many 
of the higher situations around, this passage presents numerous 
striking studies for the painter. 

"Not far remote, the Lehigh makes a similar break through 
the mountains, opening another volume of interesting pictures. 
This river, though smaller by far than those of which we have 
already spoken, is scarcely less charming. In its whole rugged 
mountain course, the changing scene is often impressive, and 
always picturesque. 

" The Schuylkill, too, is a beautiful stream, though, except- 
ing in its upper waters, it is of a more peaceful character than 
the Lehigh. It traverses the rich agricultural districts about 
Philadelphia, and greets the Delaware a few miles below that 
city. Near the capital, by the way, is a sweet little brooklet, 
called the Wissahiccon. It is an humble vassal of the Schuyl- 



DELAWAEE AND NEW JERSEY. 263 

kill, but is held in high regard for its romantic beauties, and 
for the pleasant drives along its shady banks. The artists of 
Philadelphia know it well, and love it better than many a more 
ambitious torrent." 

"We must not forget 'Little Delaware,'" said Mr. Brown- 
oker, "though she offers us but the widow's mite in the way 
of landscape attraction. Yet this mite, as we find it along the 
romantic shores of the famous Brandywine, is well worth the 
having. Then, too, there are many scenes within her Lillipu- 
tian borders, which tell stirring tales of the olden time — the 
trying times when, as Scumble might say, our fathers were 
'striking for the green graves of their sires, God, and their 
native land.'" 

" Or New Jersey — maligned Jersey," added the chairman. 
"Many portions of her ostracized territory are flat enough to 
be sure, but think of the mountains and lakes in the northern 
districts : of fair Eamapo, of placid Greenwood, "Wywayandah, 
Mackopin, and adjacent waters. Then, too, she has a share 
of the Delaware and its "Water-gap, and the Palisades of the 
Hudson are part of her dower, though, to be sure, she has to 
cross over to the Empire State to see these jewels. But there 
is one charming spot, which is all her own — those famous falls 
of the Passaic at Patterson ; and besides that, her long varied 
stretches of sea-coast, ending in that much prized resort for 
worn-out citizens. Cape May." 

" Since the chairman has reached the jumping-off place of 
the Jerseys," said Mr. Yermeille, "I will wind up our topogra- 
phy of the Middle States, with a peep at the hills and streams 
of fair Maryland. Her mountain peaks extending through 
the narrow western strip of her domain, are not of very sa- 
lient elevation, though rich in beauty, to the eye which will 
explore their solitary recesses. The Potomac and Patapsco, 
and the Patuxent Eivers have gathered, upon their shores, the 



264 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

finest incidents in the picturesque of Maryland. Tlie good 
people of Baltimore tliink very mucli of the rural charms 
which we ever find on the Patapsco at Ellicott's Mills, not far 
from their city homes. Just below, there is, you remember, 
an imposing viaduct of grand arches, which conducts the rail- 
ways of "Washington across the wide valley of Grwyn's Falls. 

"The artist may pick up pleasing bits everywhere in this 
pleasant land, though it is not the region he would deliberately 
select for study." 

"We must not leave this latitude," said Mr. Deepredde, 
"without a mention of the vast coal and iron beds of Pennsyl- 
vania, which are not only themselves quite a striking feature 
in the landscape, but have produced some other notable indi- 
viduality, the canal scenery. The mining and transportation of 
coal is the chief business of life throughout all the great anthra- 
cite region we have travelled in our successful search for the 
picturesque between the shores of the Susquehanna and the 
Delaware. Seeing the begrimed faces of the groups of miners 
coming from their work may, sometimes, lead you, for a mo- 
ment, to think you are again traversing the cotton lands of the 
South. Boating on the canals has no little influence upon the 
manners and character of the population, since it seems to be 
a law of nature among the youth here, to spend a certain part 
of their years in this sort of life, as in Prussia it is a law of 
the land that every one shall for a season be a soldier." 

" Speaking of the Pennsylvania canals," said Mr. Megilp, 
" recalls to my mind a little incident of travel in which I had 
the good fortune to remove some dangerous snags from the 
current of true, though humble love. It is a simple instance of 



love's labour wox. 265 



f ato fitboitr Mm. 

"We were weather-bound — my friend and I — at a quiet 
country inn on Susquehanna's side. The hospitable people 
did their best to make us comfortable, and we, according to 
our habit, seconded their generous endeavour to the utmost 
of our philosophy and ability ; but the united ' pull' was rather 
ineffectual. It would have been entirely so, but for the grace 
and wit and good humour of our hostess's daughter, a ruddy 
lass, who poured out our coffee, made our beds, and was 
obliging enough to laugh at all our poor jokes. 

"In her desire to make us at home, Sarah Jane had re- 
signed to our use her own httle boudoir, as we saw at once, 
in the many subtle indications of female occupancy: not so 
much the various mystic garments which bedecked the low 
white walls, as the neat fringed window curtains, the pretty 
easy tidy-covered rocking chair, the dainty little toilette stand, 
with its budding rose blossoms, its bottle of nice perfume, its 
bits of ribbon, and the stray hair pins, here and there, and more 
especially, the general indescribable air and aroma of the apart- 
ment. Here were some books, too : a morocco bible, received 
as a reward of merit from a Sabbath school, a little collection 
of gems from the poets, particularly the blighted ones — the 
gems, not the poets ; a carefully preserved album, nearly empty ; 
a ' Love's Token, from J. B. ;' a daguerreotype— probably 
' J. B.' himself; and several interesting, though rather ancient 
annuals, among them a well worn ' Farmer's Almanac' 

"All these things, from the wardrobe to the calendar, 
amused us but for a moment, and we looked about for other 
inspiration. It seemed to come at our wish, when, as we 



266 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

opened the little drawer of the toilette, our greedy eyes fell 
upon a packet of letters, finished and unfinished, and in a 
lady's hand. 

"It was very naughty in us to look at more than the out- 
sides of these sacred missives, but what could we do? We 
were expiring with ennui, and then, too, they might concern 
Sarah Jane, and we took a lively interest in Sarah Jane. On 
examination, Sarah Jane's they truly seemed to be, either as 
the work of her own hands, or as the gift of another. We 
perused them with glowing interest, for, supposing them to be 
hers, they explained to us that pensive grace which so sweetly 
toned her naturally buoyant nature — that store of secret sad 
thought and experience which gave so much repose to her 
manner. It was an oft-told tale of love and disappointment. 
' J. B.,' the donor of the ' Token' already mentioned, proved to 
be Joseph Brown, once genuinely attached to Sarah Jane, as 
she to him, but misunderstandings— foolish enough, no doubt- 
had sent Joseph off, in a huff and a hurry, to the war in 
Mexico. From the date of his farewell letter— a most affecting 
document— it appeared to be about a year and a half since his 
rash flight; but to poor Sally it was evidently a whole epoch 
of time ; at least so said the numerous unsent epistles which 
the drawer exposed. 

" After supplying, by our imagination, all the missing links 
in the drama before us, we taxed our brain, like good knights- 
errant, for some means of assisting, or, at least, of consoling 
Sarah Jane; without, of course, betraying any knowledge of 
her hidden story. At last, we struck a vein, and retired to 
rest, to work it in our dreams. 

"The next morning, as we were smoking our cigars in the 
little dining-room, and watching Sarah Jane as she cleared 
and put away the table things, I expressed to my companion a 
wonder as to the whereabouts and doings of our friend Brown. 



267 

" Sarah Jane looked up as I spoke, and with some sign of 
interest, when my chum replied, carelessly: 

" ' What, Joe ? Oh, I suppose he has picked up some 
pretty senorita in Mexico, and settled down to domestic 
life.' 

" ' Not he !' I added. ' Don't you remember how despe- 
rately in love he was with some girl or other, here, at home?' 

" ' Oh, yes, I remember very well, but she jilted him ; 
flirted with a rival beau, or did some other diabolical thiuo-l 
It was that which sent him off, and of course he wouldn't hurry 
back on her account.' 

"Our dialogue had won so suddenly and so deeply on 
Sarah Jane's attention, that, at this point, the cream-jug fell 
from her hand to the floor with a fatal smash ; but she did not 
observe the accident, as she exclaimed, with eagerness half to 
herself, and half to us: 

'"He deceived himself! I— she— the girl, I mean, didn't 
jilt him, or flirt with somebody else— that is, she didn't mean 
to, and he ought to have known better! I — the girl, I mean 
always loved him better than ' 

" Here she paused abruptly, becoming conscious of the odd 
confidence into which her excited feelings were betraying her • 
and we, to release her embarrassment, assured her that our Joe 
Brown could not have any relation whatever to her friend's 
self-defended truant. 

" ' But now that I think of it, he may, possibly, be the 
very one,' said I, when Sarah Jane had regained her usual 
composure. 'I have heard him speak of the Susquehanna as 
his native river.' 

" ' Of course,' said my companion, ' he used to live just 
about this very neighbourhood !' 

"What sort of a looking man was he you are thinking 
of?' said I to Sarah Jane. ' A tall, handsome chap, large eyes, 



268 THE EOMAJS-CE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

fine nose, curly hair, and so-fortli?' describing tlie daguerreo- 
type we had found up stairs, 

" ' Yes ! yes, exactly ! His hair is as black and curly as — 
as it can be; he has very black eyes, a beautiful mouth— but 
you would know him, in a minute, by a large scar just above 
his right eye.' 

" ' Why !' I exclaimed, ' it must surely be our very friend 
Joe, whom we met at New Orleans about a year and a half 
ago. He was just such a man; had just such a scar on his 
face!' 

" ' Yes, it is he !' said Sarah Jane, abstractedly. 
" ' And does the girl he was engaged to,' I asked, ' love 
him still?' 

" ' 0, yes ; I'm sure she does ; but he does not believe it.' 
" ' Well,' said I, ' if I can find him out, I'll take care that 
he shall believe it.' 

" ' 0, dear, no ! not for the world. You mustn't do any 
such thing! I — that is, she — wouldn't have you tell him so 
for anything,' 

" At this moment the entrance of mamma put a stop to 
our dialogue, but we managed to renew it on various occasions 
during our few days' sojourn, and so effectually as to completely 
win our fair friend's simple confidence, even to the frank confes- 
sion that she, herself, was the deserted flame of the misguided 
runaway. We became so much interested in her story and 
character, in the picture she drew of her lover, that we were 
perfectly convinced that if Brown still lived, time, and a 
true affection, would bring him back again ; and we mentally 
vowed to assist time in this process, without thinking how 
unlikely it was, that we should find any means of eifecting 
such a chimerical design. 

"In this conviction and purpose, we bade good-bye to our 
pretty friend, with words of hope, and with assurances tliat all 



# 



love's labour won, 269 

would yet be well, and her own constancy be rewarded by 
tlie return of Joe with heart as true as ever. 



"Weeks slipped away, and the changing incidents of travel, 
the charm of new adventures and new acquaintance, had quite 
obscured, if not obliterated, the memory of our rencontre with 
Sarah Jane ; though our regard for her, at the time, was sin- 
cere enough. 

" Travellers soon learn to take a quick and personal interest 
in all they meet, and in the many little affairs in which acci- 
dent may for an instant mingle them. And happy it is for 
them, that, denied the delight of continued loves, they are thus 
able to form fleeting ones ; to divide among many, the pen- 
chants they are by circumstance forbidden to bestow only on 
a few. Miserable fellows, indeed, would they be, could they 
not thus carry their affections with them, and both give and 
withdraw their loves as time and place command. And so far 
from this disposition being a sign of heartlessness, it is the best 
evidence of an affectionate nature ; showing, as it does, a 
necessity of love and sympathy, superior to the worst obstacles 
to its manifestation. Thus was it with ourselves : though, at 
the moment, v.^e would have given our whole souls to serve 
Sarah Jane, yet when we had left her, we found another Sarah 
Jane, and so on, happily, forever. 

"But I meant to give you a story, and not an essay. 
Weeks, I have said, had passed — months, indeed; the summer 
which we had begun on the head-waters of the Susquehanna, 
was now waning, finding us, to be sure, still on the shores of 
the giant ' crooked river,' but hundreds of miles below our 
starting point. Thus far our journey had been without let or 
hindrance, but at the moment of which I now speak we were 



270 THE EOilAXCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

on the eve of an adventure — an adventure verj unusual for 
that vicinity. 

" TVe were on foot, as we had been most of the season, and 
being anxious to reach a certain point before halting, were 
walking longer after night-fall than was our custom. Gener- 
ally, it mattered but little to us how late we kept the road, 
but on this occasion, we did not, through some influence or 
other, feel quite at our ease. Since dusk we had felt annoyed 
by the dogged pursuit of a couple of gallows-looking pedes- 
trians ; and the moon, who, per promise of her calendar, 
should have been our friend, hid herself suddenly behind 
huge banks of gloomy black cloud — making the forms and 
faces of our questionable companions more unpleasing than 
ever. Yet we laughed at our half-expressed fear of an attack 
from them. The mere idea of the verdancy which would seek 
to rob a strolling painter, was convulsive in its drollery. Then 
I bethought me of my adventure with the imaginary highwaj^- 
men, which I related to you when we were on the Ohio, I 
was inwardly laughing at that remembrance, as our road led 
us into the depths of a thick copse, which stretched for some 
distance along the river bank. I had barely time, as we en- 
tered its gloomy recesses, to call the notice of my friend to 
the accelerated approach of our ugly followers, before I saw 
him struggling with one of the miscreants, and found myself 
parrying the hearty blows of the other. The contest was very 
unequal ; they were heavy stalwart chaps, and we were par- 
tially disarmed by the paraphernalia of our travelling baggage, 
sketch-boxes, and the like. We were beginning to chuckle 
over the coming disappointment of our assailants, as they 
should explore our meagre purses, when just at that moment, 
the faithless moon came to the rescue, shedding a flood of 
light upon the scene ; and what was still more to the pur- 
pose, revealing the approach of yet another traveller. The 



love's labour won. 271 

merest glance told us, as by instinct, that tlie new-comer was 
a friend, and uttering the first words which had as yet been 
spoken, we called upon him for help. A few lusty whacks, to 
the right and left, of his willing staff, aided by the increased 
vigour of our own blows, soon did the business, and left us to 
watch the flying retreat of our assailants with a feeling of 
intense satisfaction. 

" We were then within a mile of our destined halt, and 
as our gallant defender was also looking for quarters, we per- 
suaded him to accompany us, and, at least, be our guest for the 
night, since he refused other acknowledgment of the timely 
service which he had so heartily rendered us. To this he 
consented, and as we began to know him better, over our 
coffee and cakes, we were glad of the acquaintance for other 
reasons than his late good aid ; for he proved to be one of 
those genial, intelligent, and experienced travellers, whom 
fellow-voyagers so much like to meet. 

" Our first gossip, of course, related to the circumstances of 
the late assault, and to expression of surprise that such an 
incident should have happened in this usually quiet and secure 
region. 

■ " ' The business of the canals,' said our strange friend, 
'infests the country with gangs of lawless foreigners, who will 
use any safe chance to better their beggarly fortunes. Yet, 
whoever the rascals may be, I am vexed that such an outrage 
should have occurred on the banks of old Sus', my native 
river ; more beautiful, and more dear to me, than all of the 
many greater waters I have seen.' 

" Here he entertained us with reminiscences of the Neuces, 
the Rio Grande, the Colorado, and other streams in Texas and 
Mexico, from which countries it appeared he was even then 
returning ; but every few sentences would bring him back to 
the winding Susquehanna. 



272 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN" LANDSCAPE. 

" We spoke of our own long explorations of the old river, 
from its sources, even to tlie point where we then were. 

" ' Ah !' said the stranger. ' In such a minute journey, you 
may possibly have tarried at the little village of B .' 

" ' 0, yes ! we passed some very agreeable days at the cozy 
inn there.' 

" ' Indeed ! then you may tell me some news, which I 
should like to hear, for I — I once spent some happy hours 
there myself. Are the old folks of the inn — alive and — well?' 

" ' Jolly as need be !' we answered, ' at least they were so 
some weeks only ago.' 

" ' And their daughter — they had a ' 

"'O, yes! Sarah Jane! a pretty, clever girl; though silly 
enough to sigh herself to sadness, for some shabby scoundrel, 
who stole her heart, and then deserted her. By the way, we 
have her portrait in our sketch-books.' 

" ' Perhaps you will let me see it ?' said our new friend, 
with eager interest. 

" ' Certainly,' we answered, and diving into our knapsacks, 
we brought forth the sketch. 

" After a long and silent contemplation of the picture, ^ 
which was a capital likeness, he turned to us, saying : ' You 
have generously offered me a reward for the slight service I 
have had the luck to render you to-night — will you make me 
the debtor, instead of yourselves, by giving me this sketch?' 

" ' With the greatest pleasure,' I replied, now fully satisfied 
of a fact, which the last few moments had led me to suspect, 
and which a glance showed me to have also entered the noddle 
of my companion. "With this clue once given, we rapidly re- 
called in the stranger's face, the traits of the daguerreotype we 
had found in Sarah Jane's drawer ; though time and travel 
had greatly changed his appearance. Still, so certain were we 
of the truth of our surmise, that we knew as much before. 



love's labour wox. 273 

as after, our friend had told us that his name was Joseph 
Brown ! 

" I will not fatigue you with the details of the manner in 
which it pleased us to tell Joseph the story of our visit to the 
home of his lady-love, and the yet more welcome news of her 
continued affection for him ; or the words in which he spoke 
to us of the unhappy circumstances which had made him an 
exile from the heart he still sighed to call his own. Suffice it 
to say, that we easily persuaded him to abandon his purpose 
of never more seeing Sarah Jane ; while we cautioned him to 
keep the secret, for a while, of his acquaintance with ourselves, 
beyond a plea of guilty — should he be so charged — of casually 
meeting us in New Orleans, at the commencement of his 
wanderings ! 

" At parting, we gave Joseph our address in exchange for 
a promise to inform us when our ' love's labour' should be won. 
This desired intelligence we received, not long after, in a joint 
letter from Joseph and Sarah Jane, inviting our presence at a 
certain interesting ceremony ; or, in default, claiming as early 
a visit as possible, to our old haunts on the Susquehanna ; the 
damsel maliciously added, that she should not be able to give 
us her own little boudoir again, seeing, not only, that it would 
not henceforth be a ' spare-room,' but that she could not trust 
such very inquisitive people among her secrets ! This sly 
allusion to our impudent curiosity in reading her letters — of 
which Joseph, the ungrateful dog, had, despite his promise, 
told her — has always made me regret the many occupations 
which, to this day, have denied me an opportunity to receive 
from her own lips, the pardon long since accorded in the mes- 
sages which I continued, and, indeed, still occasionally continue, 
to receive from her." 

" My love to Sarah Jane," said Mr. Brownoker, replenishing 

his glass, and passing the sherry to Megilp, as he ended his 
18 



274 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

romantic anecdote. " The next time I go tliat way I will give 
her a call." 

" And I, and I, and I !" added the rest of the brotherhood, 
severally and collectively. "And here's good luck to Joseph, 
too !" 

■ " Sarah Jane" thus disposed of, our friends were about to 
separate, when Professor Scumble unfortunately alluded to a 
record we once made of some rather amusing incidents which 
transpired in the Quaker City; and which, none of the com- 
pany happening to know, we were unanimously called upon 
to rehearse. 

" The story," said Mr. Flakewhite, " will be apropos as we 
halt in Philadelphia, on our return from the Susquehanna." 

"We objected that it would be but a " twice told tale ;" but 
our scruples being arbitrarily overruled, and as it was still only 
the " edge of the evening," and something was needed, pour 
passer le temps, we reluctantly rummaged over our old manu- 
scripts, and produced the following account of 



^r. irotoii'B ^tratejg. 



"No! I tell you, I will be a match for her; Pll play 
Petruchio to her Katharine! A wife usurp my prerogative I 
take the ribbons out of my hands! I, Frank Morton, bow to 
a woman's rule ! Ila, ha ! droll — very — 'pon my soul — veiy 
droll — No ! no, ladies, 

"Cursed be tlie man, the poorest wretch in life, 
The crouching vassal of the tyrant wife : 
"Who has no will but by her high permission ; 
Who has not sixpence, but in her possession ; 



MR. brown's strategy. 275 

Who must to her his dear friend's secrets tell ; 
Who dreads a curtain lecture worse than h-U 1 
Were such the wife had fallen to my part, 
I'd crush her spirit, or I'd break her heart I" 

There, you have the sentiments of poor Burns, with my hearty 
endorsement. I, a henpecked husband 1 Hercules, an infant— 
Leonidas, a coward— Washington a traitor, and Mrs. Macbeth a 

saint !" 

"Ha^ ha, Frank! you may talk and laugh and jest— you 
may flatter yourself as you please, but it won't do, brother 
mine; just marry Isadora Cruston — marry Isadora Cruston — 

you'll see " 

"Yes marry Isadora!" from a second soft voice; "marry 
Isadora ! Isadora ! marry Isadora !" from a whole host of fair 

lips—" Isadora ! Marry Isad " 

"Tut, tut, tut ladies! I cry you mercy! My poor ears are 
only flesh and blood ! You are all prejudiced ; all wrong. Isadora 
a shrew! preposterous! as I will prove to you— but there she goes 
now, past the window, on her way home! I must join her— 
adieu, ladies — may you never find in a husband more of a tyrant 
than I shall have in Isadora Cruston — au revoir P' 

" Good bye, but mark us — marry Isadora " 

"Again farewell — ^I'm off!" 

"Isadora Crus " 

" Bah !" 

"Marry Isado ah! he's off!'* 

And so, dear reader, he was off, and by the side of the fair 
belle aforesaid; and, of course, we cannot join them until we 
become better acquainted with the parties. The preceding war 
of jests arose from a slight difference of opinion between Mr. 
Frank Morton, and his sister and other fair friends, touching 
the docility of his lady-love, Miss Isadora Cruston. Isadora 
was a dashing belle, and Frank a dashing beau. Isadora had 



276 THE ROMANCE OF AIMERICAN" LANDSCAPE. 

set her cap for Frank ; and Frank, thougli he had escaped 
many similar snares, had very stupidly popped his silly head 
therein. Thus Isadora was the envy of all her fair associates, 
who, very willingly, vented their spleen in owlish predictions 
for the future. 

Frank had long remained a bachelor,, from the avowed 
fear of finding only a termagant in a wife ; which was, of 
course, a gracious compliment to the many who were ready to 
prove to him the folly of his doubts, and to vindicate the char- 
acter of their sex. In Isadora, he fondly hoped, he had at last 
found the ingenuous and confiding creature for whom his heart 
yearned, and he was bent upon calling her his wife. 

"We are now, perhaps, sufficiently intimate with the be- 
trothed to follow them into the parlour of the lady's mansion, 
which they were not long in reaching. 

Isadora has tossed her hat to her obedient lover, but why 
it should pass through his hands to the table, he does not pre- 
cisely comprehend. Despite his desire that she should take a 
seat by his side upon a sofa, she has placed herself at the 
piano, and has summoned him to turn the leaves of her music- 
book, a task which, it occurs to his mind, she might more effec- 
tually perform herself. Yet he banishes the preposterous 
reflection, and begs that she will sing for him the pretty 
song, "Thou, thou reignest in this bosom." 

At this sentimental demand, the gay lady bursts into an 
unconquerable fit of merriment, and with a slight sneer re- 
plies, "I will sing something quite as novel and more sensible — 
listen!" 

" The lords of creation men we call, 
And say they rule the whole ; 
But they find after all, whatever thejr do, 
They are under woman's control — ole — ole, 
They are under woman's control !" 



MR. brown's strategy. 277 

Frank tliougiit of the party wliicli lie had just left ; but, 
alas ! tlie bewitching eyes of the fair tyrant, at the same in- 
stant, met his own, and he 

" Was under woman's control — ole — ole, 
He ■svas under ■woman's control I" 

"Now Frank, is not that much more rational than such 
worn-out, lackadaisical stuff as that you wish to hear ?" 

"Why, my love, I don't say that " 

" You can't say ! why, you won't allow me the least taste in 
the world ! You used to praise my singing, be it what it 
might." 

" Well, my love, it is a pretty song — certainly very pretty ; 
indeed, one of the prettiest I have ever heard. Every thing is 
beautiful from your lips ; sing as you please, I would still, as 
Shakspeare says, have you ever sing so !" 

"Oh! very gallant, to be sure, sir; but you do not like it, 
after all. You have no sympathy, no appreciation for my 
tastes. We have opposite fancies in every thing, and shall 
never be happy together." 

" Pardon me, Isadora, if I have unintentionally offended 
you — I did not think to do so. I consider your taste and judg- 
ment to be always and in all things faultless and infallible. 
But, Isadora, dearest — now don't be angry — that song reminded 

me of what they were saying at Mrs. just before I joined 

you in the street ; but, pshaw ! that's all nonsense ; I'll not 
repeat it." 

" Why, Frank, what were they saying about me ?" 

"Oh! I'll not remember it, dear — 'tis too absurd!" 

"But you must tell me, Frank!" 

" No, no, dear — -'tis too silly." 

"But I loill hear it." 

"Do ex " 



278 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

" Not a word ! You excite my curiosity, and refuse to gratify 
it. It's just like you ; you have no regard for my feelings. You 
take a pleasure in teasing me." 

"But it will only offend you, Isad " 

"You will offend me more if you do not tell me directly. 
I will know what they said." 

" Well then, dearest, if I must repeat it — they hinted — they 
insinuated — ha, ha, ha, only think of the idea — capital joke, 'pou 
my soul ! — they suggested that you — ^you, Isadora, my angel, 
would — would " 

"For heaven's sake would what, sir?" 

""Would prove to be a very queen of termagants!" 

" Oh ! the slanderers — the malicious vilifiers ! I wish I could 
tear their eyes out — I do!" 

"Isadora!" 

" And you, sir, heard it all patiently and smilingly, and did 
not attempt to defend me I Oh ! dear ; why did I ever love 
such an unfeeling creature !" 

" Why, to tell the truth, dear " 

"Don't speak to me! You do not care a straw for me, it's 
as plain as " 

" Forgive me, love ; the truth is, as I was going to say, that 
I thought the idea too absurd to be angry at it ; and, besides, I 
knew they were only jesting. They cannot really hold such a 
ridiculous opinion of you, any more than I do." 

"Well, Frank, I will believe you and forgive you, on one 
condition. Promise me, on your honour, not to go there again !" 

" But, Isadora, that would be foolish and unkind ; they are 
my best friends — they are " 

"The slanderers of your 'angel' — your ' only hope in life' — 
as you gallantly call her ; yes ! sacrifice me to your dear friends 
— do, I beg of you " 

" Isadora, you attach too much import to a trifle ; but I 



MR. brown's strategy. 279 

cannot refuse jou anything — joii are my only treasure — and I 
promise " 

" Sacredly ?" 

"Most religiously, dearest!" 

"Oh, Frank! it is now my turn to ask forgiveness. Now, I 
know that you do indeed love me, and I will not doubt it 
again." 

""We will then forget them all, dear; and, for the atonement 
which you offer me, I will but abridge your days of freedom a 
little. You shall prove your forgiveness of my fault, and gain 
a pardon for your own, by a speedy appointment of our bridal. 
You know that you have half promised that it shall be next 
Thursday, my birthday ; now say positively that that shall be 
the happy hour." 

"Thursday! I'm sure I did not say Thursday!" 

" But, my love, that is an interesting time to you — my birth- 
day ought certainly " 

" I don't like Thursday ; it shall be the next day !" 

" Friday, Isadora ! But that, you know, is an unlucky day." 

"What day can be unlucky which crowns your most earnest 
hopes. It shall be only Friday." 

" How perverse you are, Isadora." 

" Yes ! every thing I do or say is stupid." 

"I mean — I mean — I was only jesting, dear. You know 
best, and it shall then be Friday." 

"Ko, you don't like Friday; you say it is unhappy, and you 
fear the results. I won't have Friday !" 

"Well then, my love, Saturday." 

"How overbearing you are, Frank, to be sure. Now do, for 
mercy's sake, let me have my own way in this matter, at least. 
It shall be on Monday afternoon." 

" Monday ? " 



280 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAlSr LANDSCAPE. 

"Yes, sir; Monday afternoon, and no other time — that's 
decided; so don't say a single word more about it." 

"Well, dearest, may heaven then hasten and bless next 
Monday ; and, Isadora, dear, we will be married at eight o'clock, 

and at nine start off in the cars for B , as you proposed. 

You see I let you make all the arrangements." 

" Eight ! I'm sure I never said anything about eight o'clock ; 
and I wouldn't be married at such an hour for the world. 
Eight, indeed ! how could you think of such a thing, Frank. It 
shall be ten; and we'll take the steamboat for O at noon." 

"Agreed, dear; it shall be ten, that's all settled, and every 
thing shall be quiet and private, as you desire." 

"Private, Frank! What, a private wedding. Why, Frank, 
I vow I should feel that I was going to be buried ! Private, 
indeed, I never said anything of the kind; but I see you are 
determined to have it all your own way." 

"I only thought, dearest, that you wished it to be so." 

" No, I don't ! We must have a large party, and every 
body must be invited. All the world are married in private, 
now-a-days; but, for my part, I think that a wedding, at least 
one like ours, should be accompanied by every token of glad- 
ness and joy." 

" So it should be — and so it shall be, love ; and the whole 
world shall be there !" 

" No ; I don't want such a jam as Ellen Brown had. She 
says she wouldn't go tlirough it again, for all the husbands in 
creation. We will only have a very select number — very few." 

" Arrange it then, my love, as you please. Make out the list 
of names and I will help you with the cards. But now I must 
leave you for a while. Business you know, Isadora, must not 
be neglected even for love. Good-bye — good-bye, dear! What 
a preposterous idea, Tsa, that of Sydney Brown and his friends. 



MR. brown's strategy. 281 

We'll soon expose their folly — eb, Isadora — lia, lia, lia! God 

bless you!" 

The long wished-for Monday at length arrived. Ten o'clock 

drew near. A large party was assembled in the gay parlours of 

Mrs. Cruston's mansion; among the guests, were all the friends 

of the lovers, excepting only Mr. Sydney Brown, who to the 

astonishment of every body, had not been invited. The bridal 

ceremony passed off happily and merrily, and Frank Morton 

became a fated Benedict. Congratulations and kisses, God-bless- 

yous and Heaven-protect-yous, were duly exchanged ; noon came ; 

the boat was ready ; the happy couple waved farewell mouchoirs 

to waving mouchoirs upon the shore, and were fairly off, on a 

six months' bridal tour in Europe. 

% -jf * * «- % * 

Six months were with the Past; during which many varied 
events had happened; such as hopes delayed, visions fled, and 
the ojDposites of fears dissipated, and joys consummated ; with all 
other appropriate lights and shades in half a year of the picture 
of life. , Among other items, and which is more interesting to 
us, at this time, the steamer which had conveyed our friends 
to Europe, had duly made her appointed trips to and fro, and 
was now, again, dropping anchor at the wharf, after a homeward 
voyage. 

Among the passengers one stood apart, listlessly gazing over 
the bulwarks of the vessel, as though it were a matter of life 
and death to him, to arrive at an exact estimate of the number 
of bubbles in the foaming waters below. The life and joy 
which should sparkle in the eye of the returning exile, dwelt not 
in his. His whole air was sad and hopeless. Neither in his 
toilet was there visible any trace of the care and taste which 
it was, nevertheless, very evident once belonged to the man. 
The vessel was securely moored at the dock, and happy greet- 
ings were swiftly flying from lip to lip, of long parted friends. 



282 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

All was animation and joy, excepting only witli our solitaire. 
He still mused apart, apparently unconscious that his native 
land and the friends of his heart were awaiting his recognition 
and kindly interchange of welcome. During ■ his continued fit 
of abstraction, a gentleman, from the shore, passed and re-passed, 
gazing earnestly in his face, until at length, stopping abruptlj^ 
before the muser, he seized his hand, and shaking it with most 
commendable heartiness, exclaimed — " I'm sure of it now ! 'tis 
none other than he! Frank! Frank Morton, my old boy, how 
the devil are you? and who are you mourning for, with 'the 
grief which passeth show?' for though you look as though the 
whole world and his wife were dead, I see no crapey trappings 
about you 1" 

" Wife — dead !" exclaimed the muser, as the words of the 
speaker gave voice to his thoughts; and then perceiving the 
presence of the stranger, the clouds fled from his brow, and he 
cordially returned his salutation, exclaiming — 

"Ah! Sydney, is that you! the first to welcome me home. 
I am glad, very glad of it, for you are my best friend, and 
your presence calls back the memory of more joyous days." 

"Thank you, Frank! that's a kind speech, and I'll take it 
in atonement for the scurvy trick you played me, in cutting 
me so unaccountably at the time of your marriage." 

"Say no more about that, Sydney. It was not my fault; 
indeed it was not. She " 

" ! certainly, my dear boy ! I thought your neglect con- 
foundedly queer, to be sure, but I put it all down to the effect 
of some cursed misunderstanding or other, which, however, I 
concluded to let you enjoy all to yourself I see we are now 
friends again, though ; so let it go. What's the good of 
obscuring present sunshine with the sour shadows of the past. 
I was expecting you back about this time, the happiest dog in 
the kennel of life, but I see, confound it, that your dog-days 



MR. brown's strategy. 233 

are fading. Come, discuss unto me ; make a clean breast of it, 
and I'll help you out of the scrape. Trouble always flies from 
my footsteps; bates me like poison — out with it, Frank, out 
with it!" 

" Ab ! Sydney, I see tbat you are tbe same merry, joyous 
fellow as ever. To meet you, makes me bappy again." 

"'Happy again,' Frank! Wby, bave you been otherwise? 
Is she dead?" 

"Oh! no, no — come nearer — speak low — you remember our 
conversation on that morning ?" 

"Aye, to be sure! I've said the same things so often that I 
cannot forget them. They are part of my creed. But how is 
tbat confab apropos of the change which appears to have come 
over the spirit of your dream? There's the mystery! I can 
hardly believe tbat I see before me, the same dashing, hopeful, 
devil-may-care Frank Morton, whom I knew in other days! 
But that conversation ! Eemember it ! Why, I am still a 
jolly old bachelor; ha, ha, ha! Eemember it, aye! 

'Cui'sed be the man, the poorest wretch in life, 
The crouching vassal of the tyrant vrife!' 

It's my morning and evening devotion, Frank! My elixir, my 
shield, my everlasting buckler, the cosmetic which preserves 
me as I am; jolly and fat as an alderman, and smiling as a 
danseusef yes — 

•Cursed be the man, the *" 



"Stop, Sydney! for heaven's sake, stop! Don't curse meF 

"Eh! yoitf no! By the gods! I — I— no, you're joking; 

aye, you're joking? You don't mean — By the powers! I 

smell a mouse! Was I right? am I right? ha, ha, ha, hold 

me! bold me! 'Tis too rich!" 



"284 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

"Alas! alas! Mj dear friend, you have divined but too 
truly; be generous though, and spare me, I pray you, your 
bitter raillery." 

"Spare you, my poor deluded lamb! It's enough to kill me 
with laughter, ha, ha, ha! It's too funny, Frank, for sympathy, 
but I'll help you out of the scrape — I'll help you out, old 
fellow!" 

"You will!" 

"To be sure! there's my hand!" 

"It's of no use, Sydney; it's too late; the die is cast. I 
thank you for your good will, but there is, alas, no help for it 
now. She is — is — in short — why should I hesitate to confess it? 
I shall not be at home a week before all the world will know 
it as well as myself — she is a perfect shrew — a termagant — a 
devil !" 

" I knew it, Frank, before you spoke it. Ha ! ha ! my 
beauteous Isadora. I read more than the title-page of your 
disposition, which I' am sorry my poor friend did not " 

" Gently, Sydney ! She will hear us." 

"Let her hear, Frank; she shall hear and see and feel more 
yet; I tell you I'll manage the business !" 

"Are you in earnest, Sydney? I know you can do any- 
thing." 

"Of course I can; I'll fix it; I'll cure her; she shall 
become a very pattern of gentleness, meekness, and obedience." 

" Alas ! my friend, you are not a Hercules." 

"Have not quite so much muscle certainly; but, let me 
alone — I'll borrow a trifle of his 'kinted wit.' If I can't 
cleanse these Augean stables of termagantism, I will rig up an 
Euphrates to dash through them. By Jupiter! It will be a 
glorious little piece of work, worthy of my genius. Be hopefal, 
Frank; I'll soon make a rattling among the dry bones, I 
promise you! Let's drink." 



MR. brown's strategy. 285 

"Hush, Sydney! Here comes Isadora's maid. "Well, Jane, 
wliat does your mistress want?" 

"If you please, sir, slie says that you have been lounging 
up here long enough, and that you must come into the cabin 
directly." 

" Oh ! ye gods and ' little fishes !" muttered Sydney — " do 
my ears deceive me!" 

"Be quiet, my dear Sydney," interposed the husband; and 
then turning to the maid, he added, " Tell Mrs. Morton that I 
will be down directly." 

"The devil you will!" interrupted the other, and then, ad- 
dressing himself to Jane, "tell Mrs. Morton that her husband 
is conversing with his old, cherished friend, Mr. Sydney Brown, 
and cannot possibly oblige her at present. Mr. Sydney Brown, 
remember, my dear." 

"No, no, Sydney, that will never do. It will be the death 
of me. Jane !" 

But Jane was off. 

"Frank, my boy, you must remember that, live or die, I 
undertake this only upon one condition ; that you leave it all 
to my discretion, and. pledge yourself solemnly, to second me 
boldly, heartily, and implicitly, in every individual item of my 
plan. What say you?" 

" Sydney, you are a master-spirit. I am yours !" 

" Good ! signed and sealed. Kow, while Mrs. M. is digesting 
your palatable message, let us go down below and drink to victory 
or death. Aliens, my old buck. Nil desperandum, as the Latins 
have it; 'Time, faith, and energy,' as Bulwer echoes it; and 
' Never do to give it up so, Mr. Brown,' as I always say 
myself" 

The return of the Mortons was the signal for a long series 
of visits, congratulations, gossipings, confabs, and merry-makings, 
throughout the extensive circle of their acquaintance. Old beaux 



286 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

and flirts were eager to oflfer their sighs again at the shrine of 
the former queen of their reunions, and antiquated belles were 
curious to observe how she bore her matronly dignities. The 
younger of both sexes swelled the fetes, for their own individual 
and mutual satisfaction, little regardful of their hosts. To the 
latter, therefore, every thing was, of course, just as it should be. 
Mr. and Mrs. M. were charming people, and they felt excessively 
obliged to them for making such a pleasant sensation in the 
town. But to the former classes, affairs appeared in a quite 
different light; yet, if possible, even more gratifying to them 
than to the others. Both beaux and belles soon had the intense 
satisfaction, the supreme delight, of discovering that what they 
had predicted, what they had hoped, if the truth must be told, 
had come to pass. Our poor friend Frank was the " immolated" 
on either side; since the belles felicitated themselves with the 
idea that he was punished, for his. preference of Isadora; and 
the beaux, that they were revenged for the gay lady's preference 
of him. This grand discovery soon became the general theme 
of converse. Incalculable quantities of whisperings, disettes, and 
scandal, were floating about. The gentlemen shrugged their 
shoulders, with a knowing smile, at the singular change in the 
humour of their old friend, and feared as much. The ladies were 
not blind — not they — ^they saw plainly enough how matters stood, 
and had always predicted it. Indeed, to sing the song in short 
metre, the public settled quietly and confidently down in the 
faith, that Miss Isadora, the celestial Isadora Cruston, had turned 
out a veritable Xantippe ; and that the gallant, the cynical, the 
matchless Frank Morton was, unequivocally and incorrigibly, a 
henpecked husband! 

But the most singular phase in the phenomenon, was that 
Frank, the once high-souled and haughty Frank, did not in the 
least deoTce revolt against the domestic despotism under which 
he was crushed ; but, on the contrary, seemed to take d-elight in 



MR. brown's strategy. 287 

bending, with studied submission, to the iron rule. This hu- 
mility, in a man of Mr. Frank Morton's former temper, was 
strange indeed ; and to all, excepting to Mr. Sydney Brown, who 
claimed to know a thing or two, was most unaccountable. When 
bantered by his friends, Frank took all in good part, and listened 
incredulously to the propositions of resistance which were made 
to him, as though they were the mere dreamings of a disordered 
imagination. At such moments, however, his friends occasionally 
detected a lurking smile in his eye, which but quadrupled their 
perplexity. Isadora had also noted, with anxious curiosity, 
Frank's strange obedience to her slightest will, both in public 
and private ; and the mysterious smile which his friends had 
observed, created double alarm in her mind. The deference 
which he carefully paid to her — his naive appeals to her superior 
judgment, which he invariably made, in all topics of conversation, 
in public or private, whether the theme was a lady's toilet or 
the policy of States, the confection of a cake or the solution 
of a geometric problem, the government of a nursery or the 
discipline of an army — both annoyed and terrified her. The 
position conceded to her became embarrassing ; her crown weighed 
upon her brow ; her sceptre wearied her hand, and she felt that 
she had assumed a power which she was incompetent to wield. 
Neither was it from her husband alone, that she received these 
exaggerated tokens of respect and devotion. All his especial 
friends, those who had once been ever ready to fling back her 
sarcasm and her sneer, now aided in canonizing her. Even the 
incorrigible Sydney Brown was submissive with the rest. Had 
she detected but the slightest symptom of irony in the exalted 
respect of her friends, all would have been well ; but it was 
offered with such an immaculate air of sincerity and truth, that 
she was compelled to receive it, with the best grace she could 
assume. Day after day, she felt more keenly the painfulness of 
her position; to which was added, the perception she at length 



288 THE BOMANCE OF AMEKICAN LANDSCAPE. 

had, of the ridiculous place her husband held in the household. 
She was a proud woman, and a slave to conventional law. She 
had only desired to govern through him, and not in her own 
name. The usages of society demanded this nominal authority, 
but Frank had rejected it, and publicly assumed the rank he 
really held. Nay, he studied to make his debasement even lower 
than it really was. He directed his correspondents to address 
him to the care of Mrs. Morton, and the lady had received 
several letters addressed to herself which were evidently written 
to him ; while he occasionally sent her a sheet which had been 
directed to Mr, Morton, but very clearly, was addressed to her. 
Frank could not, or would not, explain to her the meaning of 
all this. When bills were sent to his house, he referred them 
to Mrs. Morton. He had even run up an account at her jewel- 
ler's, which was presented to her for payment ; nay, more, he 
affected the character and airs of a lady; carried a parasol 
in the streets, and an embroidered cambric in his hand ; rode 
horseback sideways, and flirted desperately with his admirer, 
Sydney Brown ! 

These little vagaries became so frequent, and were often- 
times so extravagant, that the dear public begaji to think our 
hero's afflictions had turned his brain ; that he had been ac- 
tually henpecked into madness. Isadora, when she recollected 
his natural humour, and the melancholy change her tyranny 
had really made in it, at times, fearfully admitted the same 
terrible thought. Then again, when she recalled the message 
which Mr. Sydney Brown had sent to her, from her husband, 
on the day of her return to her native land, and the intimacy 
which had since been renewed between Frank and that gentle- 
man, her fears gave place to rage, in the reflection that there 
might be "method in his madness!" This last idea was not 
sustained by the fact that Mr, Bro"\Yn humoured all his eccen- 
tricities ; since that amiable gentleman had, as a friend, hinted 



■ MR. brown's strategy. 289 

to her Kis belief, that her husband's imagination Lad, from 
some unaccountable cause, become deranged, and had begged 
her permission to lend that seeming assent to his fancies, which 
the case imperatively required. 

As time passed on, her husband's singular affliction appear- 
ing to have somewhat abated, Isadora determined to resume 
the place in the gay world which she had partially abandoned. 
She was the more ready to do this, as Frank himself had sug- 
gested it ; and at his desire she had resolved to give a dinner 
party, to which she conceded to him the sole privilege of 
inviting the guests. This concession was made, not merely 
to humour him, which she would have gladly done though, to 
any extent, in the hope of making him again what he once 
was — but she was tired of her usurped power, and sighed only 
to resign it, and reinstate her husband in all his rights. 

In preparing the cards for the coming fete, Frank proved 
himself very reasonably sane, carefully selecting only the tried 
friends of his family ; those in whom he could, in all things, 
place the utmost confidence. Inasmuch as the affair had been 
left wholly to his direction, Isadora was, nevertheless, not a 
little mortified and surprised, to learn, on the very day of the 
dinner, that the invitations had been sent to every one 
in her name, instead of her husband's. From this inci- 
dent she augured a recurrence of his idiosyncras}^ ; which 
fear, as the dinner hour approached, was greatly increased, 
and, finally, fully confirmed. As the guests began to assemble, 
the fair lady was horrified by a characteristic query from Frank, 
which proved that he again looked upon himself as the mis- 
tress, instead of the master, of the house. 

" Frank, my love," said he, " since I left the whole of this 

affair to your pleasure, I hope that you have invited all your 

friends, not even excepting Sydney Brown. I certainly do 

not like Mr. Brown very much niyself, but since he is the 

19 



290 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

cherished friend of my husband, I shall be always happy to 
receive him as snch. It is no less my pleasure than my duty, 
dear Frank, to study your happiness before my own, in all 
things. I have sacredly pledged you my love and obedience, 
and I "will never belie my promise." 

"Frank!" exclaimed the bewildered and angry Isadora, 
"•what does this nonsense mean? Are you really a fool, or 
do you wish to insult me ?" 

"My dear husband," returned Frank with a kind and gentle 
smile, "since it is your pleasure to call me by your own 
dear name, I cannot object to it; nor will I complain of any 
other strange cognomens you may give me. I can bear any 
thing from or for you, patiently and cheerfully. 

"Frank!" interrupted the bewildered wife, "do, for heaven's 
sake — for my sake, cease this foolery, and go down to receive the 
guests. They are all arriving, and no one in the drawing-room!" 

"Jiy guests, my dear! I'm sure I did not invite them, and 
besides, you know that I have to dress for dinner — would you not 
like me to wear my new silk, with the beautiful point lace " 

Here our hero was interrupted in his toilet-speculations, by the 
abrupt and maddened departure of Isadora, who seeing no hope of 
making her husband conscious of his dul^ies, hastened down stairs 
to welcome her friends, and to make an apology of sudden indispo- 
sition for Frank. 

The excuse was of course sufficient, and every thing went on in 
all apparent harmony, until dinner was announced, and the guests 
were preparing to move to the salon-a-manjer. ' At this instant, to 
the utter astonishment of the party, and to the entire petrifaction 
of Isadora, the invalid host entered the hall, in a complete suit of 
lady's apparel! He (or she) greeted the assembly with infinite 
grace, and hoped that Mr. Morton had given them all a cordial 
welcome, and made her excuse for her own tardy appearance. He 
then took the proffered arm of his cavalier, Mr. Sydney Brown, and 



ME. brown's strategy. 291 

leading the way, was, as by a spell, followed by all to the table, 
where he seated himself on Isadora's chair and pointed her to 
the one he himself usually occupied ! 

She mechanically obeyed the gesture, but when Frank 
called upon her to pronounce the blessing, she could bear it 
no longer — and recalling her scattered senses, and a share of 
her accustomed self-possession, she made a motion for the ban- 
quet to proceed, and addressing the party, hoped that the ab- 
surd scene they were witnessing would be forgiven, since her 
poor husband had long been somewhat out of his mind, and 
was now evidently insane. 

Mr. Sydney Brown, in pursuance of the permission which 
he held from Isadora, lent himself fully to the wild humour of 
his host; gallantly paying him all sorts of compliments, and 
carrying it so far as directly to address Isadora, now and then, 
as Mr. Morton. 

" Shall I," said he at one moment, gaily bowing to Frank, 
"have the honour of taking wine with my fair hostess?" and 
then turning to Isadora, he added, "my friend Frank, you 
are backward to-day in good example; faith, your glass has 
not yet been touched !" 

At another *instant^ he commenced a sentence to Frank 
touching a lady's opera costume, and finished it to Isadora, 
with a remark upon the probable results of the next Presi- 
dential election. Then again, he accused Frank of stealing 
away the hearts of all the beaux; but told Isadora she well 
repay ed the theft, by liis own notorious flirtations. 

How long this odd scene might have continued we know 
not, had not a light suddenly burst upon Isadora's mind, as 
glancing at her husband, she detected the often observed, 
equivocal smile upon his lip; and at the same moment, upon 
that also of Mr. Sydney Brown. 

The scenes of the past few weeks, and the sequel of to-day, 



292 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

was, as by magic, explained to her. A deep blusli of shame 
covered her face, and she burst into an uncontrollable fit of 
tears. 

"Frank!" she exclaimed, amidst her sobs of mingled shame 
and rage, "why am I subjected to this outrage? "What means 
this cruel farce ?" 

"It means, madam," said Frank, now gravely rising and 
speaking in his wonted tone of pride and command, "that 
you have so long abused my love, in usurping my authority, 
that I have resolved to gratify you to the top of your bent, 
and resign the shadow with the substance ; to abandon to you 
the outward form of rule, since you have taken the spirit 
of it. T, therefore, formally make over to you, before these 
witnesses, every portion of my wardrobe, while I, in return, 
shall beg the use of yours ! In short, madam you will now 
make choice of one or the other ; either to take upon your- 
self my entire duties in the household, or totally resign your 
usurped and ill-placed authority, and become as a wife should 
be — modest, gentle and obedient !" 

" Spare me ! oh ! forgive me !" cried the conquered Isadora, 
falling at his feet. "The punishment you have inflicted upon 
me is only just — and yet it is cruel — oh ! too cruel ! I have 
long, dearest Frank, felt my error and sighed to retrieve it. 
The lesson you have taught me, is bitterly completed to-day. 
It is so stricken in my heart, that it can never be forgotten. 
Forgive me! and I promise you by the solemn vow I once 
pledged you, to become, henceforth, all your brightest dreams 
could ever have shown you in a wife!" 

"Ah, my Isadora! once again my own loved Isadora!" 
cried the now really crazy Frank, as he raised his repentant 
wife and .clasped her to his breast, "Oh! bitterly now, 
ehould I regret the severe measures I have used, but for the 
wonderful and happy results! Oh! Isadora, you are well for- 



MR. brown's strategy. 293 

given — but can jou ever pardon ?ne, and our good friend too?" 
lie added, placing her hand in that of Sydney Brown, who 
stood, for once in his life, embarrassed by the strangeness of 
his position. 

This mauvaise honte vanished, as Isadora kindly pressed his 
hand, and in a sweet voice, pronounced his pardon and her 
thanks. Sydney, sinking upon his knee, pressed the fair fin- 
gers to his lips, and sacredly promised never again to flirt 
with Frank, if the sacrifice should even break his heart ! 

When all explanations had been duly made, mutual par- 
dons granted, and the felicitations of friends offered, Frank 
addressing the assembly, said — 

"The role, which you now know me to have been long 
playing, has, thank God, been eminently happy in its denoue- 
ment. I have taken care that none should witness this painful 
scene, but well tried friends, in whose honour I have perfect 
reliance and I must now exact a solemn promise from all, to 
keep the incidents of to-day forever sacred as the grave." 

"No nol" interposed Isadora, "the world knows my fault, 
and it is but just that they should witness its punishment." 

"I will not accept so hard a penance," returned Frank. 
"Let them know only the results. My good friend Sydney, 
whose genius alone has accomplished these glorious effects, 
will know best how to complete his work." 

^ * * * * * 

Once again the good good people of were taken by 

surprise. Mr. and Mrs. Morton were never to be seen but 
together, each as gay and joyous as in the merry days of 
their courtship. "Whenever allusion happened to be made to 
the metamorphosis, Frank looked with a smile of pity and 
triumph upon the querist, which seemed to establish the very 
common report, that the scandal-loving public had been the 
egregious dupes of the inveterate wag and bitter satirist, Frank 



294 THE ROMANCE OP AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

Morton, who, "vritli tlie assistance of his equally satirical Isa- 
dora, had so long successfully played the part of the Hen- 
pecked Husband! Their envious friends were compelled to 
swallow this bitter pill of chagrin, when even the hitherto 
invincible Sydney confessed that his friend Frank had at last 
done him Brown! 



t 







CHAPTER XIY. 

"Gentlemen," said tlie chairman, "as we gathered for the 
last time around our social board, we are happily completing 
our pleasant labours, just as the returning summer is calling 
us forth again to the actual enjoyment of those out-of-door 
beauties, with which we have so long been delighting ourselves 
in memory and in fancy. 

"With a hasty visit, to-night, to the charming landscape of 
the Eastern States, we must close our discursive pilgrimage, 
and shake hands, with the hope that our recollections may give 
as much pleasure to our readers, as they have afforded to 
ourselves. 

" We have lingered amidst many lovely scenes in our grand 
tour of the Union, but none more beautiful than those we have 
yet to look upon, among the noble hilLs, and valleys, and lakes 
of brave and gallant New England. It is a very easy and 
very remunerative labour to travel here, where the facilities 
of locomotion are so great, and where every step offers some 
object of interest and beauty in physical nature or in social life. 
Throughout the length and breadth of this region we shall every- 
where meet pleasant scenes and pleasant people. The only 



296 THE EOMANCE OP AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

difficulty is to determine where to begin our rambles, wliere 
so many things divide our love. Perhaps we had better each 
discourse of his favourite haunts, while we all remember that 
our especial theme is the natural beauty, and not the social or 
industrial characteristics of this country. I esteem this caution 
necessary here, where we may be so much tempted to linger 
in the thousand charming homes and villages, or among the 
innumerable temples of ingenious toil." 

" Suppose then," said Mr. Megilp, " we commence with Maine 
as the largest, if not the most attractive, link in Yankeedom. 
With your permission, Mr. Chairman, I will take the rugged 
old Lumber State for my share in your proposed 'partition.' 
I have a fancy for the wild solitudes, yet left to us, in her 
primitive forests, and along her rocky and islanded coasts. I 
love to linger amidst the thickly-wooded passages of her moun- 
tain brooks, and to meditate upon the lonely summits of her 
great hills — great even in their proximity to the more famous 
heights of New Hampshire. You should stand, as I have often 
done, upon the stern crown of old Katahdin, or upon the 
crest of Sugar-Loaf, and look out over the unrivalled pano- 
rama of hills, and valleys, and lakes innumerable ; or you 
should explore the yet untrodden recesses of these valleys 
and waters, where you may alike abundantly gratify both your 
passion of artist and hunter. And then, too, there is still a 
world of beauty in reserve, along the wild courses of her 
noble rivers, the Kennebec and the Penobscot. I advise some 
of you to pitch your tents next summer among the beauties 
of this too-much neglected region." 

" It is of but little use," said Mr. Yermeille, " to direct 
the tourist thither, however well his journey ings may repay 
him, while he can revel, so much more at his ease, among 
the still greater charms to be seen in the famous hill and 
lake districts of the Granite State. Who wants to toil up the 



THE EASTERN STATES. 297 

■wearisome ascent of Katalidin while he can ride comfortably 
to the nobler height of Mount Washington, and gaze upon a 
panorama of hill and vale reaching even to the far-off sea. 
Can Moosehead or Umbagog rival the mirrorring beauties of 
Winnipissiogee and Squam; or does Maine offer a parallel to 
the stupendous pass of the Notch in our White Hills ; or has 
she sweeter brooklets than the white-crested Ammonoosuck and 
Pemigewasset ? The stone-face of the venerable Old Man of 
the Mountain, gazing, from his rocky heights, over his en- 
chanted domain, would take a yet more flinty aspect, were 
we to question the supremacy of his claims to the first rank 
in the noble landscape of New England." 

" It were vain," said Mr. Flakewhite, " to deny that New 
Hampshire is unsurpassed in the magnificence of her moun- 
tain scenery : and yet there are aspects of Nature here, which 
delight me more. Such are the gentler scenes which we find 
everywhere along the valleys of those beautiful rivers, the 
Housatonic and the Connecticut. This softer landscape, while 
it does not strike the eye so vividly, yet fills the heart more 
surely and more enduringly. It is a region in which you 
may contentedly dwell, not for a day, but for ever: since it 
commands the beautiful in Nature, with all the supplies and 
comforts of life. Here, while pursuing your daily toils, you 
may drink in the delights of inspiriting scenery, and always 
and insensibly 

" ' See and hear 
The lovely shapes and sounds intelligible 
Of that eternal language which thy God 
Utters ; who from eternity doth teach 
Himself in %I1 things, and all things in Himself ; 
Great Universal Teacher! He shall mould 
Thy spirit, and by giving make it -well.' 

I once, with some pleasant companions, made a pedestrian 



298 THE EOMAJSrCB OF AMEEICAN LANDSCAPE. 

tour through the valley of the Housatonic, entering it at the 
cozy village of Old Stockbridge, and lingering among its 
chiefest beauties in Berkshire. On the way, we made a slight 
detour to that happy cluster of lakes, in western Connecticut, 
of which the Washinee and the Washining, or the Twin-Lakes, 
are the centre. 

" But the nobler Connecticut opens- to us a yet richer land- 
scape of the same class : a landscape so admirable, indeed, 
that it has no peer in all the land. The finest and most 
characteristic part of the Connecticut, lies about midway from its 
source among the hills, on the Canadian borders, to its entrance 
into Long Island Sound — stretching above, from Northampton 
to Brattleboro', and below, to Springfield. South of Springfield 
the waters flow through a pleasant and densely settled, yet 
comparatively low and unattractive country ; while north of 
Brattleboro' both the river and the valley grow narrow and 
rugged, presenting, more and more, the usual aspect of moun- 
tain streams. Northampton, and its neighbourhood, presents a 
most charming picture of plenty and comfort in its luxuriant 
meadows, and cozy homesteads, and is at the same time sur- 
rounded by the boldest hill-features of the Connecticut. Here 
we may look, from a hundred varying points, upon the rocky 
face of Mount Tom, or upon the acclivities of his confrere, 
bold Holyoke. Both these fine elevations come admirably 
and effectively into all the views from the valley levels; but 
they owe their wide fame to the surprising panorama seen 
from their summits. Turn our gaze as we will, from the top 
of Mount Holyoke, and we everywhere see vast sweeps of 
cultivated meadow, and interminable chains of distant hills. 
Beautiful villages, with their soaring church spires, rise thickly 
around us, and the gleaming river, in its winding flight, leads 
our delighted eye far away to the peaks of the Green and 
the White Mountains." 



THE EASTERN STATES. 299 

" How gay," said Professor Scumble, 

"'How gay the habitations that bedeck 
This fertile valley! Not a house but seems 
To give assurance of content within, 
Embosom'd happiness, and placid love; 
As if the sunshine of the day were met 
By answering brightness in the hearts of all 
"Who walk this favour'd ground I' " 

" Beautiful as is tlie country around Mount Holyoke," 
continued Mr. Flakewbite, "I will not say there are not more 
charming scenes still beyond: indeed my memory recalls, at 
this moment, no glimpses of the Connecticut valley more 
pleasing than sundry views commanded by the Poet's Seat, a 
bold precipice near Greenfield; at Yernon also, and at Deer- 
field, Brattleboro', and "Bellows Falls, there is a world of 
interest in the ever-varying panorama." 

"This is a venerable region," said the chairman; "some 
of the towns of this valley are as old as the first settlements 
of New England. Northampton, for instance, young and rosy 
as it looks to-day, was born full two hundred years ago. No 
wonder then, that, like aiany other portions of the Eastern 
States, it contrasts so vividly with newer and rougher parts of 
the Union." 

" It abounds, also," said Mr. Asphaltum, " with bloody tra- 
ditions of Indian warfare. Everywhere the traveller is reminded, 
by tale or tablet, of some trying adventure in the history of 
our sturdy ancestors. At Deerfield, there is a marble monu- 
ment, commemorative of the fatal ambuscade in 1675, when 
the savages waylaid and murdered a company of eighty-four 
gallant youths, the flower of the settlement." 

"There is one important division of our subject which we 
have not yet touched," said Mr. Blueblack, " and it claims very 
respectful consideration, I assure you, even after the visit to 



800 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

Kew Hampshire and the Connecticut. I speak, of course, of 
the hills and valleys of Vermont — of the meadows which lie 
along the shores of Lake Champlain, overlooking those great 
waters, and the greater chains of the Adirondack's spurs beyond 
— of the fair vale and stream of Winooske, and the proud 
crests of Mansfield and the Camel's Hump. The views from 
the tops oi these gTcat mountains will well repay the toil of 
ascent; and the waters of the Winooske, pleasing in their 
whole flow of forty miles, from the capital to the lake, are, 
in many places, of exceeding interest : there is much of beauty, 
too, found in the tributary brooks. The Huntington river 
contains some fine ravine passages near its entrance into the 
Winooske, at Jones ville. In addition to the pleasures of a 
charming landscape, Yermont will introduce you to one of the 
most agreeable and hospitable of the 'Yankee populations. In 
their sturdy independence and general intelligence, you will find 
strong traces of the honest, manly spirit of their Aliens and 
Starks, of times, happily, gone by." 

"You will scarcely believe it," said Mr. Brownoker, "but 
I made my first excursion down East, only last summer. In 
view of all I have heard of 'steady habits,' blue-laws, liquor- 
laws, and the gravity of Plymouth Eock, I set forth with much 
fear and trembling, afraid that I should find myself a very 
black sheep in the flock : but I soon breathed more fi'eely, 
when I discovered that I had not got into such an extremely 
' serious family' after all. To be sure, on my first ' Sabbath,' 
— there is no Sunday in New England — my landlord solemnly 
profiered me ' a j)ew in meeting ;' but, then, to make amends, in 
the afternoon, his daughters — merry lasses, and mischievous as 
Satan — invited me, on the sly, to accompany them in an 'huc- 
kleberry' excursion 'over the hills and far away.' My host 
himself, I afterwards found out, notwithstanding that he shaved 
very clean and had a ' family bible that lay on the stand,' 



NEW ENGLAND HABITS. 801 

could swear like our army in Flanders ; but he always piously 
qualified his oatlis by saying (in parenthesis, and with virtuous 
suavity), ' to speak after the manner of men,' Thus — ' I was so 
darned riled, Mr. Brownoker, that I told the infernal scoundrel 
to go to h — heaven ! speaking, you know, after the manner 
of men.' 

" Though the immortal Maine Law had just gone into opera- 
tion, and, like a new broom, might be expected then, if ever, 
to work thoroughly, nowhere could I innocently, and in good 
faith, demand a glass of innocaous ' soda,' without being myste- 
riously conducted into a retired apartment, and having an 
obnoxious decanter thrust under my afflicted nose. 

"Altogether, I soon learned that, despite the decorous exte- 
rior which the good folks wore, through long and general habit, 
not hypocrisy, they were, no more than others, in any way 
' too virtuous for cakes and ale :' that they were still sufficiently 
* of the earth, earthy,' and possessed of a goodly modicum of the 
leaven of evil — a very essential alloy to the ' cardinals' in the 
production of the pure coinage of human sympathy and love." 

" ' Creatures not too bright and good 
For human nature's daily food,'" 

said Scumble, approvingly. 

" Yes, men and women, the world over, are, au fond, pretty 
much the same," continued Mr. Brownoker, with a gravity of 
manner worthy of the chair, "despite the disguising incrusta- 
tions with which education and circumstances may enwrap 
them. 'From Greenland's icy mountains to Afric's burning 
strand,' and 'all intermediate landings,' the geology of the 
human heart is the same. Everywhere v/e detect the same 
identical strata, though the surface may vary much. Strong 
passions, both good and evil, slumber under the cold phlegmatic 
exterior of Kew England, no less than beneath the lighter 



804 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAJST LANDSCAPE. 

the lady laugliecl gaily as I answered, with a bashfal curtsey, 
' Thank you, sir, you are very kind !' Then the free and easy 
air with which they roamed over all parts of the establish- 
ment, from the bar-room to the stables, and made love to the 
sterner sex, was edifying enough to gentlemen possessed of very 
high teeth, but deplorably annoying to would-be bucks, who 
still needed the watchful eye of mamma. It was, however, not 
until the late supper- hour, that the spirit of the occasion was 
thoroughly developed. 

" A bountiful table — one of the Judge's own famous boards 
— ^had been provided, and the ladies having fasted long beyond 
their accustomed quiet tea-time, sat down with a gusto Vv^hich 
they usually display only in the pantry or at ' lunch,' when the 
gentlemen are all 'down town.' 

"Starting with the soup, in a sprighly genial humour, the 
convives grew more and more enthused at each succeeding course, 
when, if the last piece of pudding did not do the business for 
them, as it did for gentle 'Charles,' the wines and cigars — very 
mild brands, both — which soon followed, certainly did. Each 
passing toast was rapturously greeted and eloquently answered, 
amidst a hurricane of 'hear, hears!' and the clapping of pretty 
hands and stamping of little feet; but it was the final senti- 
ment Avhich brought out the soul of the table, the 'nine groans 
and a tiger,' and the master-speech of the night. 

"When this last supreme aspiration, 'The Gentlemen— ;- the 
d — 1 take them !' was uttered from the Chair, the uproar grew 
inconceivable, and it was a long while before the voluble 
tongue of Mrs. 0. K. could be distinguished amidst the mar- 
vellous din of voices. 

" ' Ladies !' cried that fervid apostle of progress, when chaos 
was at length caged, ' as I listen to the noble sentiment which 
has just been announced, and turn my swollen eyes, red with 
sorrow, over the wrongs of our sex, upon the soaring crest, 



woman's rights. 305 

yonder, of Camel's Hump— (hear, bear !)— yes, ladies, I say 
Camel's Hump '.—(renewed cheering)— Camel's Hump, ladies!— 
I wonder that the indignant mountain does not fall upon and 
crush our oppressors!— (immense applause, and cries of 'Scratch 
their eyes out !')— AVe have borne it, ladies, long enough— too 
long. In the unanswerable language of that noble instrument, 
the great charter of our holy national liberties, we have pe- 
titioned, we have remonstrated, we have done all that women 
can do— who dares do more is none! There is no longer time 
to talk — the crisis has come, and we must act — "act in the 
living present, heart within, and Cod o'erhead!"— (deafening 
cheers).— Flesh and blood can bear no more! Why, my be- 
loved sisters— why, I ask you, and I pause for a reply— why 
should not we, like our arrogantly self-styled lords and masters— 
(deep groans and bitter sneers)— get our crowns smashed at the 
ballot-box, that bulwark of freedom !— (cries of 'Why, why!')- 
Why should we not, like them, fight for our country's rights 
on one leg and with one arm, when the others are gloriously 
gone !— (' Why not !' from all parts of the house.)— Why should 
we, too, not be rocked, through sleepless nights, on the quiver- 
ing spar washed by the waves of the ocean !— (increasing ap- 
plause).— Why should we not grow strong in the fresh air, fol- 
lowing the plough! Why must we be for ever and ignomi- 
niously set up as shrines of worship, sheltered from all the cares 
and dangers and toils of life, (loomed inexorably to no higher 
fate than thoughtlessly and lavishly to spend our husbands' 
money, while they alone enjoy all the delights and excitement 
of making it! Why should we, too, not go on benders, and 
be jolly, as at this moment, and get home in the morning, 
with rosy noses and aching heads! But I weary you, ladies!— 
(terrible applause, and loud cries of 'Go on!')— I might, indeed, 
go on for ever, and then begin again, so appalling is the fearful 
picture which shocks my terror-stricken sight ! But I need no^ 
20 



806 THE ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

say more — my feeble tongue is not required! The fearful sub- 
ject will speak for itself, in its still, small, but omnipotent 
voice, until the hills shall echo with its mighty story, and the 
floods of the great deep take up the resounding tale! — (inde- 
scribable excitement). — It shocks me — in the language of the 
poet — 

"To think that earth should be so fair, 
So beautiful and bright a thing ; 
That nature should come forth and "wear 
Such glorious apparelling ; 
That sea, earth, sky, should live, and glow 
With light, and love, and holiness, 
And j-et man never feel or know 
How much a God of Love can bless — 
How deep his debt of thankfulness" 

to woman, the patient, living author of his very life, the 
radiant jewel without which that life would be but a worthless 
casket — woman, the last, and most perfect work of heaven — 
woman, the angel of light, bringing — ' 

" Here the speaker's voice was irremediably drowned in a 
continuous and indescribable shriek of applause, and she sunk, 
like the maestro Jullien, exhausted to her seat. 

"The party was to return by the night-train, which passed 
late in the small hours. Before their departure, they sent for 
the Judge, to be kissed, in behalf of his sex, as Louis Napoleon 
embraced the prettiest of an immense dejjutation of washer- 
women, in the name of the whole. I proposed to be the 
modest Judge's substitute, but, after a hot debate, was thrown 
out on the score of my not being a married man ! However, 
as a consolation and a mark of their esteem, they elected me, 
by acclamation, an honorary member of their charming so- 
cietv. 



megilp's slight mistake. 307 

"The cars came at last, and the ladies ended their frolic, 
au"d went back to their pleasant homes once again — " 

" 'To suckle fools and chronicle small beer,'" 

said Scumble, finishing the sentence. 

. " Grentlemen," said the chairman at this point, and in the 
midst of the merry comments upon the graphic " report" of Mrs. 
0. K.'s famous speech, " though this is our very last meeting, 
and we ought of right to linger, like Mr. Brownoker's notable 
ladies, until ' daylight doth appear,' yet you must remember 
our engagement at the ' Century,' and time waits. Besides, we 
have already given our host more rigmarole than his book will 
hold ; if we feed him any longer with such succulent ' copy' 
he will grow entirely too plethoric for the paper-makers." 

" Don't be in a hurry," said Mr. Megilp ; " it's only ten 
o'clock, and when shall we all meet again ? Stay a few minutes 
more to hear a brief stage-coach adventure of mine in the land 
of notions. It's the history of a slight mistake, which may 
serve you both as a warning and as a valediction." 

"Well," said the chairman, "I 'capitulate' to the few min- 
utes you reqviire, but be sure that you rein up when they are 
expired." 

"0, certainly," cried everybody; "plenty of time! of course 
we can't avoid 



ilegiljj's .Slijljt flistitlie. 

" The coach," said Mr. Megilp, " drove up to the piazza, 
where I was awaiting its arrival, as the darkness of a mild 
Auo-ust night was growing too dense to be visible. 



308 THE EOMAXCE OF AilERICAX LANDSCAPE. 

" Mj cigar being unfinished, I jumped upon the box with 
the driver, whom I found to be so agreeable an old fellow tBat 
I hghted and puffed pipe after pipe, in merry chat, until, the 
air growing a little chilly, I bethought me to get inside. 

"'Xot a bad idea,' said Jehu; 'there's an all-fired nice 
girl in there !' 

"'The deuce there is!' said I; 'why did you not tell me 
before, you old ass ?' 

" ' Because,' said Jehu, with a provoking grin, ' I supposed 
you would prefer my beautiful society !' 

" ' Pshaw !' said I, as the machine held up, and I leaped 
to the ground. 

" Sure enough, just as the driver had said, there was a 
bundle of neglected beauty nodding on the back seat, but of 
what style, whether blonde, brown, or brunette, it was quite 
too dark to tell. 

" I established myself alongside, but, after various futile at- 
tempts at talking, found the lady too sleepy therefor. I nodded 
too, until a jolt aroused me from love's young dream, but onlv 
to make me nod again, when I found the innocent head of my 
companion gracefully pillowed upon my shoulder. Bless her 
dear little heart ! I thought, travelling all alone by herself ; 
and, the better to protect her gentle slumbers, I kindly wound 
my arm about her pliant waist. Then I dreamed again, and 
again awoke, and afraid that the fair one might not vet be 
sufficiently comfortable, I drew her still nearer to me — and I 
am not so certain that, in some of the many jolts, our lips did 
not occasionally meet ! 

" Thus it went on until something frightened the horses 
into a run, which upset the entire concern, at the sharp corner 
of a small house, much nearer than it ought to have bqen to 
the roadside. The impersonation of Cupid and Psyche was 
abr aptly ended by this untoward accident. In the confusion 



megilp's slight mistake. 809 

of the moment, I had jumped unconsciously out of the coach, 
and as soon as my scattered senses came home, I snatched a 
light from the hands of one of the people of the house, and 
began to look about for the lady, quite unheedful of the 
dolorous cries of an old coloured woman, who was screaming 
that her ' neck was clear broke !' 

" ' Blast your neck !' I cried, pushing her aside, as I rushed 
to the coach. ' Good heavens, she's not here, she's nowhere ! 
We must have spilt her out on the road !' 

"'She's all right!' said the driver, with a sardonic laugh. 

'"All right ! how ?' 

"'0 yes, sir; thank you, sir; don't be frightened! It's only 
my poor neck that's broke !' said the squalling black Phillis 
aforesaid. 

" ' 0,' said I, as the terrible truth dawned upon my be- 
nighted mind, '0, you are the lady, are you? he, he; yes, 
yes ; ah yes ; it's all right.' 

"'All right!' echoed Jehu, when, having put the establish- 
ment on its pins again, and the lady in her seat, he prepared 
to resume liis journey. 'Will you risk the chances again, 
inside, sir, or will you try another cigar on the box?' 

"Gentlemen, I took the cigar and the driver, instead of 
the senorita, though I assure you it was but Hobson's choice 
between them. That's all. You may scatter now as fast as 
you please." 

'"Last scene of all this strange eventful history,'" 

sighed Professor Scumble. 

Hereupon, dear readers, our guests shook hands with us 
and with each other, and with many kind words to you all, 
and many hopes that their gossip may find favour in your sight, 
they vanished from our own. 



310 THE EOMANCE OF AMERICAN LANDSCAPE. 

And now, "finally, and to conclude," as the worthy chair- 
man, land reader, would say to you, were he still here, "God 
bless you, friends." 

As our dear magniloquent Megilp would express it: "May 
you live a thousand years !" 

As the dainty Flakewhite's aromatic words would flow : 
"May all good angels guard you!" 

As the downright hearty Brownoker would blurt : " Good 
luck to you, boys !" 

Or, as our ancient parchment, Professor Scumble would 
add : — 

"And so, witliout more circumstance at all, 
I hold it fit that we shake hands and part." 



THE END. 






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